Cold, But Not Yet Frozen
by AlucardLovesSteakCakes
Summary: Saruhiko went missing after the Red King's Sword miraculously restored itself just before his death. A year later Saruhiko returns but as a King killing murderer, already stealing the Green King's life. In order to find out the truth, Mikoto and Reisi are shown the boy's memories, and find out that everything they thought they knew about Saruhiki Fushimi was wrong.
1. Prologue

December 19th was supposed to be the day that the Red King, Suoh Mikoto, got his revenge for Totsuka Tatara by killing the Colorless King. Afterwards, the Blue King, Munakata Reisi, would kill him before his sword hit the ground and made another disastrous crater.

That didn't get to happen.

The him dying part, that is.

Instead, as he smiled sadly at his long time friend and fellow King, halfway through his heartfelt apology for making him kill him, the Gold King's tower exploded-blinding white light blasting from the upper floors and stopping both Kings in their tracts. When the light faded, so visible even off the mainland, and Mikoto hadn't felt a blade slice his skin he panicked. But when he opened his eyes he was met with a stunned Reisi standing in front of him with his sword in the snow, staring up above them with his mouth slightly open. He followed the man's train of sight and found that his Sword of Damocles, which just moments before had been dull and falling apart, in perfect-absolutely perfect condition, even brighter and more put together than when he had first become a King years ago.

So on December 19th Kings were killed, but Suoh Mikoto was not on that list.

However it was the day that Fushimi Saruhiko went on the Missing Persons List.

No one knew where the raven had gone, although Misaki had tried his damnedest to find him, scouring every inch of the city and suburbs for weeks until Homra held an intervention for him to actually get some sleep. Reisi was worried, horribly so, but he also had to worry about the blowout of the Dresden Slate. The Silver King, truly the Immortal King, had come back and been dumbfounded at the Red King's Sword suddenly restored.

The Gold King reported that he had fallen unconscious and woken up outside the chamber room along with Weissman's body. The glass floor and windows had been shattered, glass raining on the street below like deadly rain. The Slate itself wasn't damaged in the slightest, but even Weissman couldn't put a name and face on who or what had done such a thing. Clearly the light explosion and Mikoto's Sword were linked, and in the back of his mind Reisi wondered if Saruhiko was involved as well. All the security cameras in the upper floors had been blown out from the explosion and the other cameras didn't detect anything, or anyone, out of place.

That night no one from Scepter4 had noticed him go missing, the last person who had seen him was Awashima Seri and she reported that he had been standing along the bridge rail and watching the Red Clansmen down below. Homra didn't report anything, no one had noticed him staring in the first place, too preoccupied with what most of them thought would be the last moments of their King's life.

A year passed and no one was the wiser on anything that had transpired on the night of December 19th. Misaki Yata had gone from desperation into depression, convinced he had been abandoned once more by the one he once called his best friend. Homra, the Red Clan, continued on causing trouble but to a lesser degree, Reisi sure that Mikoto was trying to stay alive this time.

The Red King had learned his lesson from his short temper, that and he wanted to live on for Totsuka's sake now that he could. Of course, he still bitched and moaned to Reisi in private about how much he hated being a King, that the life was better suited for someone else. The Blue King would just smiled and light a cigarette, his personal opinion that there could be no better King than Suoh Mikoto.

Life went on, no leads on the third-in-command's whereabouts no matter how many camera satellites Reisi searched in his spare time, no matter how many world wide credit card checks and 'borrowed' security footage he binged through. A part of him wondered if the boy had died, because it was much easier to die than go off radar in their day and age.

And then suddenly the Green King was murdered, Scepter4's radio going haywire as they rushed to investigate. Nagare Hisui, the Fifth King, was found _eviscerated _in Jungle's base of operations. His Clan members hadn't received a distress call or even noticed there was a fight going on despite all being in the same building. Their King lived on the top floor of their self-built eighteen story headquarters and when Reisi arrived at the scene the ceiling was still dripping blood. It was almost like the man had exploded, guts and bone fragments splattered everywhere in a gory spray that proved to be too much for his lieutenant as she ducked out of the room with a quick apology.

This time the security cameras were intact and the film easy to spool through, and by the fifth frame Reisi was choking on his tea and his hand flew for his cellphone.

Because Saruhiko Fushimi was clearly on the screen, doing what seemed to be conversing amiably with the King, and in the next frame it was just utter gore, with blood smeared against the lens. Saruhiko stared back at the camera with the same bored look he would wear whilst getting water from the cooler at Scepter4, let alone standing in a mess of what used to be a human being.

Thus November 7th became the day Saruhiko Fushimi was moved from the Missing Persons to the Most Wanted List.

It being the boy's 20th birthday wasn't helping anyone's mood.


	2. Chapter 1

In less than fifteen minutes, the five Kings were gathered in the Golden King's ceremonial hall, now void of the Dresden Slate that was now just yellow marble flooring. The Red, Gold, Purple, and Blue Kings all stood in a circle in the cavernous room, all staring at the Silver King who looked very worried. The meeting ended as soon as it had begun, the Silver King just telling everyone that they should definitely search for Fushimi Saruhiko but be very cautious and not doing anything reckless, as it was safe to say that the male was targeting more than one King.

Reisi fell into step beside Suoh as they walked down the steps outside of the great tower. "A moment?" The Blue King offered, motioning for the other to walk with him, and the other accepted without a word. They walked down the sidewalk that was relatively empty for an early Sunday morning, unconsciously matching one another's pace. The silence was tense, as it was clear they were both confused and upset over the killer's identity.

"Is it too much to hope that it's just another Colorless King, but this time one that can copy people's appearances?" Suoh muttered, fishing a cigarette from his front pocket and lighting it with his mind. The other male let out a long sigh, "We both felt our Auras in that area, it's him..."

The Red King let out a dragon's breath through his nose, smoke wafting behind him like a departing train, "Anna was right, in the end." Reisi broke pace, slowing down a moment in silent shock. "What do you mean?" He had always liked the boy, always felt like it was duty to protect him from the moment they met in the rain, but he was nothing if not a man who could make the tough decisions and come out standing tall. Mikoto turned to him, stopping with an hard expression on his face that never seemed to change, those line marks of exhuastion speaking volumes of the stress he faced by just living.

"Back then, I was going to dismiss the boy from Homra, take him out of the Clan, after Anna entered his mind by mistake." Reisi knit his brows in worry, knowing the girl was always in a fragile state, and partly because he dreaded what the other was going to say. Mikoto continued, taking a drag of his cancer stick with languid movements, "She said she saw 'blood and death', that he had the mind of someone who had killed before and would be able to do it again." Reisi was silent, taking in the information that he had already guessed.

"But you were fond of him, right?" Mikoto asked and Reisi just closed his eyes, "When I inaugurate members into my Clan I am able to feel their soul-or rather what they feel the most inside, what they truly feel. When I put my hand on that boy's shoulder, under rain and lightning, I felt an overwhelming and crushing desire to die. I was worried for him from the beginning, I used to think that he wore sweat bands on his arms because he self-harmed. I always thought he was lost and upset because he felt that Yata Misaki had abandoned him for Homra, but then again what I had felt at that time was not something that could have been caused by being ignored by a friend, even if it was the only friend he had ever had. It almost didn't have a name, what I felt, but if I had to name it I would call it 'despair', because it was as if his soul was in a million pieces and that there was no glue on this Earth that could make a sculpture from dust."

Mikoto stared at him, almost bewildered. Mikoto had always thought the boys' tryst was childish to him but important to them so he let them fight if it meant they were able to let off steam. So many times he had had to comfort Yata with silence when he woke up crying from a nightmare, begging Saruhiko to come back to him. He was fond of Yata, the boy was so endearing and loyal and kind it would be heartless of him not to go to him at those times. And it was at those times, when the boy cried himself to sleep in his lap that he detested the raven haired boy. There had always been something 'off' about him, the way he stared at people-not just Yata, the way he would stare at dead cats they sometimes would pass in alleyways. Like Reisi he had gotten the impression that Saruhiko self-harmed, he certainly fit the 'emo' stereotype and his social skills with subpar at best.

But there was a frightening intelligence in those blue eyes, a glint of something distinctly _not right _when he stared off into the distance. There was a coldness to those eyes, a distanced look that put you off and told you to stay away from him. It wouldn't surprise Mikoto if he was the one who killed some of the dead cats they came across, but then again they didn't live in a very nice part of Shizume.

And then there was the part of him that had thought that perhaps the boy had been behind why his Sword had risen in the air active and intact. He had been ready to die, willing to go and see Totsuka even though he knew it wouldn't be what the blonde would have wanted for him. He knew his Sword would fall sooner or later, and even if it was harsh-Totsuka's death provided the opportunity he had been searching for. He didn't know exactly what it was like for other Kings, but for him as the Red King he was constantly trying to keep his Aura from destroying him.

It felt like an all encompassing fire and he was going to be swallowed up any second. Staying awake was taxing, and in sleep he was plagued with nightmares of destruction and death. He hadn't wanted to become a King in the first place, but even if Totsuka hadn't meant it-he'd felt pressured into accepting the title. A part of him had always thought that Totuska was pushy, that the boy had practically guilt him into being a King, and it was true. But then he'd smile and say something sweet or just be _Totuska _that Mikoto's hesitation vanished. The boy had been his best friend as well as his ball and chain. Without Totsuka there was no reason for him to continue being a King, to continue suffering, and so he had been happy to die.

And then he didn't end up dying after all.

Walking to his cheering Clansmen he had realized that they were all crying, that Anna looked like she was going to pass out at any moment.

He realized that he had been selfish, that there were more people who needed him. Homra was a house full of broken individuals, people who had gone through horrible trauma and had congregated together to form a nice big broken family. If he was gone they would feel like what brought them together had gone as well, and they would go back to being self destructive and lost. Perhaps some of them would kill themselves either by self harm or careless actions.

And it wasn't like there hadn't been someone he had been in love with, but it just so happened that that person was the only one he would trust to kill him. And so things had come full circle, on Fushimi Saruhiko's birthday of all days, and here he stood talking with the man who he had always loved and who was clearly broken up over the boy that Mikoto had never cared for.

Reisi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Mikoto, I hardly appreciate this, I desperately want to believe that what we saw was wrong but I know that that's wrong in and of itself." Mikoto nodded, understanding how the other felt but not really feeling the same, he had never trusted the boy and so this whole thing, aside from the fact that a non-King had killed a King, had not surprised him in the least. They continued their stroll and ended up a coffee shop, in which Mikoto ordered a giant strawberry muffin the size of his head while Reisi purchased a polite cup of tea.

Upon leaving the shop, however, they were met with a familiar strain and Silver Clansmen. "My name is Neko!" Neko chirped, her heterochromatic eyes sparkling, "Shiro told me to tell you to take me to Saru-chan bedroom so I can show you his memories!"

If there was a face that perfectly expressed the complex emotion of 'What the Fuck?', Mikoto's face would be that face. Reisi took it more in stride, however, despite the fact that the girl was dressed in an oversized cat costume.

"Alright, follow me."


	3. Chapter 2

I want to thank everyone who reviewed and for reading this new tale of tears :D

* * *

Saruhiko's dorm room was bigger than the other dorms of Scepter4 subordinates, but significantly less adorned with anything of a personal nature. Reisi had never been in the younger male's room, and he despaired at how utterly bare everything was. The comforter and sheets were the standard dark blue they were in every other dorm, the walls white and voids of posters or clocks. The bedside table was empty as well as the dresser top, the drawers containing uniforms and casual clothes in small supply. It had been a year since a human had been in the room, robots keeping it free from dust while it's owner was gone.

Neko bounced around the flat, looking for something while she was still dressed in that ridiculous cat costume one would expect to see at an amusement park. Mikoto, on the other hand, had claimed the couch as his new napping area and was already fast asleep. Reisi smirked to himself, letting out a small laugh, _belligerent fool. _He had a certain fondness for the red head, and while he was sure others hadn't noticed, he had certainly come to the conclusion that Mikoto Suoh was in love with him. It had been apparent on his face when he began to apologize on December 19th, and if Reisi hadn't been preoccupied with the fact that he had to kill him, he would have been very flattered. Of course, he was a man with priorities and starting a romantic relationship with another King, no matter how much he cared for said King, was not one of them.

Entering the boy's bathroom he discovered something of interest and called to the Red King to get his butt in gear. It was almost endearing to watch the man lumber over like a drowsy bear, but the contents of Saruhiko's sink cabinet was more of interest. There was an open black suitcase underneath the boy's sink, with hundreds of slim empty vials lining the felt interior. There was a syringe resting beside the case, the cap broken off and needle missing, and all the vials as well as the syringe were stark empty.

"Do you think the brat was an addict?" Suoh voiced, scratching his head as Reisi removed the suitcase and accompanying syringe from the bathroom and into the dining area. Placing the suitcase on the counter he glared at the man, still unwilling to believe the worst about someone he had worried about for so long. Neko made a noise of discovery from the boy's bedroom, and came out triumphantly waving about a hair brush. Mikoto sighed turning to the strange girl, "So what is this, anyway, what did you mean show us that kid's memories?" Neko put her hands on her hips, trying to look flashy but the cat outfit was her undoing, "I am a memory strain! Shiro and Kuroh have been training me all year and now I can access a person's memories from any part of their DNA!" She waved the brush over her head again, and the Kings questions if she was as old as she looked.

"Shiro said you two were the closest Kings to Saru-chan and it would be better if it were you two who saw his past instead of anyone else! I helped solve a lot of mysteries with my new technique and Shiro says I'd make a good detective like on those TV cop shows! I love the one where they're in America and they have to-" Reisi cleared his throat, not patient for the moment as he was frazzled and wired. Neko pouted, "No fun, but oh well-after this Shiro promised me spicy rice crackers so I don't care if you guys wanna be big meanies! One two three!"

Reisi and Mikoto were blinded by darkness, the apartment around them melting away into a dark void. Reisi took a step back, and when he looked down he found himself standing on nothingness, firm beneath his feet and yet intangible. "What the hell is this?" Mikoto voiced, and as if in response there was a sudden roar of sound, a mix between a car crash and a marching band. They both crouched instinctively at the loud noise, and then suddenly it went away as fast as it had come. They stood, Mikoto reaching out and finding that at least he was able to hold onto Reisi, hauling one another up from the floor of nothing. "The hell was that?" he said again, and as if the whole thing was a back and forth conversation, voices started flooding the air.

"Dying is all you're good for!"

"You're cold Saru! You're heart is frozen!"

"You're nothing but a monster! You're no son of mine!"

"Freak! Whore! Worthless thing!"

"They just died and you don't even care!"

"Neh Saru, wanna go to the arcade! They just put in a new game!"

"There comes a time when you face death and realize you weren't even alive to begin with."

"You're our perfect little plaything, and you'll die our precious little princess."

"You know this'll cost you more than a couple of bills, right?"

"Welcome to Scepter 4, Saruhiko."

"Just go ahead! I'll meet with you on that hill!"

"Quick! Grab as many cases as you can!"

"Saru, you feeling okay? You look a little under the weather..."

Mikoto and Reisi whipped their heads around, unable to find the source of the various voices. Mikoto recognized Yata voice asking Saruhiko about going to an arcade and asking if he felt okay, recognized Reisi's voice welcoming him to Scepter 4. Reisi felt sick listening the horrible words zooming around them, clustering about and reverberating back like an echo in a space they couldn't define. "Are these...his memories?" Mikoto murmured, unnerved by what he was hearing, his opinion of what the boy had gone through changing quite a bit. Reisi shook his head, steeling himself, "Surely not, I mean we can't see-"

* * *

"God you're such a freak! If you can't even feel this you're nothing but a freak!" Fushimi Niki brought the belt down against his son's bare back hard enough to split skin, blood running down the lacerations and into the boy's pants and the tatami he was kneeling on. Saruhiko just kept shaking his head back and forth, crying but not making a sound, fists balled on his knees as his father whipped him. He could feel none of it, not even a whisper as back split open and gushed red. He'd been born without nerve endings, unable to feel liquid on his skin let alone temperature. He couldn't feel the pain of biting his tongue, the pleasure of a good stretch, the ache of sore muscles or even taste food. As if to compensate, however, he could smell better than his classmates and could see in the dark. He had no friends because he didn't know what it was like to be hurt, so he often go too rough with people without knowing he had hurt them.

He was nine years old last week, but he knew better than to expect a birthday party. He lived with his father in a rundown one-story on the edge of Tokyo, and they barely had enough money to afford food or running water at the end of the week. It was all due to the fact that his father was an addictive gambler and drug addict, that he indulged himself in booze and sleazy women while his son locked himself in his bedroom and tried to do his homework over the sounds of laughing men and drunken sex. Often his father brought home his friends and once and while he invited one that was a little too friendly with Saruhiko, so the boy locked himself in his room and would then climb out the window and hide underneath the house. It didn't matter the crawlspace was filled with rats and snakes, it was better than what was above. Besides, he couldn't feel it if a rat ran over his bare toes or a centipede crawled into his shirt. He didn't care about those things, as long as he was alive he was okay.

He was okay.

His father threw the belt aside hard enough to shattered a window, and then took out his frustration yet again on his son by beating him within an inch of his life. For the next few days Saruhiko skipped school to nurse his wounds, not feeling them but knowing that if he lost too much blood he would die. A part of him didn't know why he put up with his abusive father, why he didn't run away already, but the other part of him craved his father's approval, even though he knew deep down he would never get it. He had never known his mother, his father said she had been a whore, and so the only family he had was his father. He half loved, half hated his father, made sure to cover him in a blanket when he passed out drunk on the sofa and did the man's accounts even though they always came up short. He had a job selling newspapers and picked pockets to make ends meet. His father was unemployed and yet gambled away what little they had with his poker buddies, getting into debts Saruhiko knew they would never be able to pay off.

And then one day they suddenly had enough money to pay off their debts, and Saruhiko was left staring at the number his father had scrawled in their checkbook with wide eyes and a giddy smile. Surely his father had finally won the jackpot, surely thing would be better now, he ran into the living room and saw his father grabbing the car keys.

"Where are we going?" Saruhiko asked, following his father dutifully as the man beckoned him out the door.

"Somewhere nice," his father replied, and Saruhiko got into the passenger's seat of their filthy car and they were off. Somewhere along the way he fell asleep again the door, only waking up when his wall of support gave way when his father yanked open the passenger's side.

"C'mon brat, we're gonna be late."

Saruhiko lifted himself from the asphalt without complaint, after all he couldn't feel the grit in his palms nor the scrape on his cheek. He followed his father inside the gray building, and down several windings halls before going through a pair of red double doors and into a blinding white hallway. Four men dressed in white scrubs and face masks stood a small ways away, talking about something. Upon noticing them the men turned and Saruhiko got the impression they were smiling.

"Ah-welcome! It's good to finally meet you in person, Saruhiko-kun."

Saruhiko suddenly felt there was something off about the whole thing, never liking doctors because they always looked at him funny when he didn't react to shots. His father noticed his unwillingness to walk forward and shoved him along, stumbling towards the men in white. As his father and the men talked, Saruhiko zoned out as he took in his surroundings. To be frank it looked like the hall went on forever, white walls lined with long windows, and then realized that the hallways turned to the right but the whole place was white so it looked to go on forever.

He didn't like this place at all.

His father suddenly shook hands with one of the men and turned to go, and Saruhiko reflexively ran after him. "Dad wait! What's-" He was suddenly backhanded hard enough to knock him to the ground, and while his father had always been abusive, he had never been so in front of other people. He stared after his father with wide horrified eyes, the words his father was saying with a twisted face resounding in his ears like metal.

"You're nothing but a monster! You're no son of mine!"

He didn't realize he was crying until his father's receding form became a purple blur. He opened his mouth to cry out but his father had already gone through those accursed double doors and the men in white where hauling him to his feet. He turned his head to look at the man who had spoken to him first, tears spilling unrestrained down his face, his knees weak as he was forced to stand but those arms would not let him go.

"We've been searching for children with your blessed condition, and now we have amassed the amount we needed. In return for you we cleared your father of his pesky money problems, I'm sure as a son you can appreciate what we've done for your father." Saruhiko just let the tears keep falling, his father otherwise apathetic as he was bombarded from the shock of being thoroughly abandoned.

"Don't worry, we'll take good care of you."


	4. Chapter 3

Saruhiko found himself being dragged into a white room with no windows. There was an operating table in the center of the room, a white lamp overhead for light and rows of beeping machines and trays of tools on either side. It hit him suddenly that these were to be used on him, and he began to scream. He thrashed, trying to get away with fear clogging every pore, but the two men holding his arms were stronger than him by far.

He saw rather than felt a needle being injected into his arm and his voice left him in moments. He tried to make words but all that came out were garbled noises between gasps and choking noises. It was more that his vocal cords were render obsolete rather than he had trouble speaking, and tears fell from his eyes like the rain he had never felt on his skin.

His shirt was removed as well as his pants, elastic white trousers pulled in their place and he wondered what the metal would feel like on his bare skin as he was laid on his stomach. He couldn't move anymore, his body strapped down to the table in a way that made him panic even more, every instinct hell bent on survival but unable to be fulfilled.

The lead doctor, the one who had been talking to him the whole time but Saruhiko had been too distraught and terrified to hear him, leaned over him and pulled down his mask and took off his hair cap. A man in his early thirties or late twenties, with kind dark brown eyes and black hair that was slicked back. "I'm sorry for being so rude before when we haven't even been properly introduced! My name is Komoro Honshu, and it is a pleasure to meet you, Saruhiko Fushimi." Saruhiko stopped his keening, staring into kind eyes that contradicted everything that was going on. Noting that he had ceased his struggling, the man's smile turned feral and Saruhiko started crying again, this time from sheer fear.

He was scared and confused and he couldn't turn his anymore from how his head was turned to side so he was forced to stare at the doctor's waists as they started doing something that sounded wet. He didn't want to die, it didn't matter that he could feel pain, he didn't want to be torn apart or whatever they were doing to him. The horrible noises lasted for what seemed like hours but was only a few minutes before Komoro let out a low whistle, "Yup, he's got nerve endings but they're turned off. He perfect, we found P4."

Saruhiko just continued his whimpering whines as they supposedly sewed up his lacerated back, and at some point they must have injected him or it just finally got to him because he slipped into darkness. When he woke up he was in a white bean bag, dozens of pastel colored sheets wrapped around him. Blinking until his eyes came into focus, he found himself in a white room like before except this one was filled with pastel colored stuffed animals and sheets. There were also three other children there, staring at him owlishly from the furthest corners of the room.

He tried to speak and found that he could, and immediately curled into a sobbing ball, burying himself in baby blue and green tea sheets. One of the two other boys, with cropped black hair that looked as thin and as smooth silk, crept over to Saruhiko tentatively. "Hey, um, my name is Hinata, what's your name?" Everything about the other nine year old looked feminine, from the beauty mark under right eye to his pink lemonade eyes. Black hair was cropped to his chin, and his voice was gentle and soft. Saruhiko blinked away his tears and looked up at the other boy, mistaking him for a girl at first but then realizing the other was a male.

"S-Saruhiko..." He wiped away the mess of tears and snot from his face with a blanket that smelled of disinfectant. Hinata beamed at him, "I like that name! How old are you?" Saruhiko glanced at the boy and girl standing side by side in the corner of the room, staring at him with unnerving blank faces. "N-Nine." Hinata nodded, "Then we're all the same age! That's Kazuo and Seiko, by the way."

He said as he pointed to the silent pair in the corner. All four of them were wearing the same white outfit, Saruhiko assuming Kazuo was the boy and Seiko was the girl. Kazuo had messy brown hair and lemon yellow eyes while Seiko had long black hair and dark brown eyes. It was unnerving how quiet and blank the pair were, but then again the whole place was disturbing on it's own.

Saruhiko nodded numbly, and Hinata suddenly hugged him, "I know it's hard to believe but we'll pull through! We'll all become great friends and everything will be okay!" Seiko and Kazuo shared a look and slowly walked forward and sat next to Saruhiko's bean bag chair. Kazuo nodded, "If we stick together we'll be fine, it's not like we can feel physical pain, after all, but there's still emotional and psychological pain." Seiko threaded her fingers with Kazuo's, and Saruhiko wondered if they were siblings.

It turned out that, no, they weren't siblings, but had grown up in the same orphanage. They really were all the same age, all recently having turned nine and all without the ability to feel physical stimuli. He clicked with Hinata almost instantly, after getting passed how cheerful and upbeat the boy always was. He was kind and soft spoken and yet was charismatic around Saruhiko. Day in and day out, they were taken from the pastel room and tutored. They finished courses faster than they would have in an actual school, and of course in this school it was utterly impossible to pass notes when they were being watched through plexiglass windows.

Saruhiko learned hold to bit back his cries when they injected him with drugs that made his vision black out even though he was clearly awake. He learned how to ignore the fresh scars encircling his wrists to mark where his hands had been severed off and then reattached. He had felt nothing, seen nothing thanks to that special drug, and it was only until his vision cleared and his wrists were stitched and bandaged did he realize what they had done. He really had his nerves turned off if they had been able to cut clean through bone and him not notice a thing. He wondered, as he always had, what it was like to feel anything. What did it feel like to be hugged by Hinata? What did it feel like when he got up out of those scattered pastel blankets that made up their beds? What did it feel like when they injected him with needles half as thick as pencils?

And then one day they did something that made him feel for a fraction of a second.

And it was the worse day of his life.

* * *

Saruhiko was taken into a completely dark room, a single lamp over a metal table let him know they were in the room they always were but for some reason everything else was black.

"Lay down on your stomach and we'll start something new today, alright Saruhiko?" He repressed shivers at Komoro Honshu's voice and shuffled to the table and did as he was told. He was never really sure if they injected him with anything because he obviously couldn't feel it go into his skin, so he had to rely on sound. He was always facing their waists and when he looked out the corner of his eyes he was blinded by the overhead lamp. He heard the rustling of something like a plastic bag, and then registered that they were hovering around his neck. He closed his eyes, already used to the sound of slicing flesh even though he wasn't sure if it was weeks or months that he'd heard the sound.

"So Saruhiko, how have you been feeling since our last operation?" Komoro asked, and Saruhiko had to remind himself he couldn't lash out and punch the man who's crotch he was forced to stare at, because he was bound to the table. "Fine." He grit through his teeth, out of anger an frustration. He wanted to leave this horrible place with no windows and just live outside in the wilderness so he never had to look at another human being again. On the other hand, these people were monsters, experimenting on them for whatever reason. It was barbaric.

"Now, we're going to do something different from last time. So just take a deep breath and try not to scream too much, alright?'" Saruhiko stiffened, unnerved by the man's words. He didn't scream anymore, had no reason to scream if there was no one to hear it and save him, he couldn't feel such pain he knew he should be feeling, so why would he want to scream now? And why was he asking about the last operation so much? It had been a strange procedure, more doctors were present and from his peripheral he had made out a giant canister of what looked to black ink being pumped through some tubes that lead over his back and out of his eyesight.

He didn't know why that, after that experiment, he was required to be injected every night with that same black ink without fail. It had been a month of just that and their studies, and he found out that the other three had been through the same ordeal. The injections made them pass out immediately after taking it, and when they woke up eight hours later they would immediately vomit. He would dream of same thing every night-no longer his horrible nightmares or dreams of impossible happiness with his father, but instead a strobe of bright colors that when he awoke with the others made his head spin and stomach churn. He didn't understand it, but he hated it, dreaded the bell that signaled the injections were coming.

Saruhiko's eyes rolled back and he let out a silent scream, saliva trailing down his open mouth. He thrashed violently, reaching back blindly for the source of the suddenly cacophony of _pain _that was driving him bad. He _felt something cold and hard _and pulled it up and away from him. The _pain_ of his lacerated back and visible spinal cord was _nothing_ in compare to the _burning_ in every _pore_ of his body, in the feeling of_ splintering ice_ in his lungs and of the _rotting_ of his flesh. It was _horrible_, this wasn't _pain_, this was _beyond pain_. Sound finally made it's way back into his grasp and he shrieked out his agony and fear. He had never felt anything before, neither pain nor warmth, and this burning agony of more-than-pain was too much for him to bear.

Into darkness he fell and his agony followed, only now he was unable to thrash about and make his injuries worse. He reeled in pain in swirling colors, and nearly went insane from the sudden and overwhelming stimulation.

And when he awoke he vomited like he always did, only this time there was blood in the mess. He felt nothing once more, but now that he knew what feeling felt like he no longer wished to be anything but what he was.

And he was a monster.


	5. Chapter 4

The Arsinoth they had injected into all of them had completely ruined them.

Saruhiko sobbed into Hinata's shirt, being in the facility for a year this was a common occurance. Seiko and Kazuo were a tag team duo who comforted each other in entwined fingers and gentle words but Hinata and Saruhiko preffered a more physical approach.

Nestled underneath a mountain of pastel sheets they clung to each other throughout the night, waking up in screaming tears and burying themselves in each other. Hinata was Saruhiko's first an only friend, once a son of a prostitute who had gotten tired of lugging him around with her and found the facility's article in the newspaper. Now Hinata was Saruhiko's moral support, his anchor to sanity in that white dark place.

Hinata was so kind to him, kinder than anyone had ever been to him, and a part of him didn't think he deserved it. What had been done to them all, turning them into monsters just to kill Kings, how was that something that deserved love? If they had been turned into killing machines that took such tolls on their bodies that normal people's bodies would break down if they could feel it, what did that make them? Just because they couldn't feel themselves rotting inside, the energy flaring in their bodies like liquid flames? That didn't sound like Saruhiko's definition of a human being.

So what did that make him?

Day in and day out they were trained, shown all there was on the Dresden Slates, on Kings. They only had five pictures of Kings to go through, as the Red and Blue Kings had apparently gone and blown themselves up and created the Kagutsu Crater. Saruhiko had heard about the disaster but hadn't understood what had caused it.

With Kagustu Genji and Habari Jin out for the count, all that was left was a bunch of men that Saruhiko didn't think looked all that special. But he'd seen videos recorded of Kings in action, of the Green King who would spiral green threads that made deadly explosions, of an interview with the Colorless King, Ichigen Miwa, to discuss his clairvoyant capabilities.

He studied Adolf K. Weissman and his research and findings on the Dresden Slate, on his immortal reign in a zeppelin that ghosted over Shizume City. He learned about Daikaku Kokujoji and his advancements in technology that brought Japan into the world as a leading world power.

He read books upon books about philosophy and astrophysics, on advanced mathematics and medical practicums. He receiced a private tutor with which to study the martial arts and how to sword fight. He learned which pressure points to hit to knock out your opponents or to simply stun them, learned where to cut someone to make their rib cage pop open like a hair clip. He spent 347 hours learning how to hack secure systems and another 245 learning how to create better ones.

He learned how to fire a machine gun and how to fire pistols with both hands, how to deflect a bullet with a knife. He learned how to deactivate bombs and how to make one from scratch. He learned risky acrobatics and how to climb up a flat surface without a safety harness or divots in which to grasp.

He learned how to track animals if he was in a forest by their debris alone and how to skin and cook them. He learned survival techniques and how to live in a desert for more than 48 hours without water, how to hone his special eyesight to see perfectly in the dark. His keen sense of smell helped him learn how to tract people by their scent, how to trace them down like a bloodhound despite being blindfolded in a maze.

He learned how to go days and days without eating because he'd been punched in the gut so hard that his intestines ruptured.

He learned how to tell when he was grievously ill by the discoloration of his scelera, how to detect dehydration in his fellow teammates by their scent.

He learned how to respond when the staff called him by his serial number.

He learned how to kill the death row inmates brought in without throwing up afterwards, and how to clean blood out of white clothes.

He learned how to have his abdomen dissected without whimpering.

He learned how to hold in his tears until everyone had gone to bed and he could cling to Hinata without fear of being stabbed with a syringe for his misconduct.

He learned how to think of himself as an object, rather than a person.

* * *

"Neh, Saru-kun?" Hinata poked his companion with a straw while they sat in their room of sheets, the other hand holding a specialized energy drink. Saruhiko grunted at the object poking the side of his nose and swatted the other away with a grumbled noise.

Hinata frowned, "You've been grumpy all morning! What's up with you? Was it seeing Sei-chan and Kazu-kun making out?" Saruhiko wrinkled his nose at the thought of the two eleven year olds tonguing each other's mouths like they were a decade older. He himself didn't really understand their strange romantic relationship but he figured it was their way of coping with their reality.

It was what was bothering him, but it was more that he hated himself and that he saw himself as a monster. He saw them all as monsters, but since they were his kind he loved them. But he didn't understand how they could assume they could find love, when clearly they weren't worthy of it.

They were made to kill people.

They had already killed people.

So how could he be loved when he was clearly a murderer?

"Saru-kun? Saru-kun why are you crying?" Saruhiko blinked away his tears and turned to his friend, watched as Hinata's pretty face was blurred out and distorted by his tears.

Saruhiko buried his face in the other boy's shirt, a crushing weight hitting him and rendering him infantile. Hinata asked no more questions and just held him, Saruhiko sobbing wildly into the white shirt he knew he had ruined with his tears more than he could count. Of all the people in his life he loved Hinata the most, perhaps because he was his only friend or perhaps because he was enamored with the optimistic innocence that held him together.

Maybe he was in love, but he was too young to know of such things.

Then again, he was just to young to begin with.

* * *

Saruhiko found himself losing that which had been so instrumental in his being, both his guilt and his pity. He killed without a second thought, swallowing his self loathing with a thick kind of determination. He hated himself, hated what he did, but crying and wallowing in self pity no longer seemed appealing. He registered it as futile, these people would die anyway as all men died.

Saruhiko lost himself in the colors he saw while he slept, in the injections of dark matter that were the only things keeping him alive. Without those injections he would feel that crushing pain once more, would taste copper in his mouth as he broke apart from the inside out. Those doctors said that without those injections he would succumb to the power that had bestowed in him, the so called 'power to kill Kings', and would suffer massive internal hemorrhages until he died.

And he would be able to feel every second of that death.

It was perhaps that alone that let him outstretch his arms for that nightly injection, helped him stand that lurch of his stomach every morning and the strobing colors of his dreams that made his head hurt upon waking. Seiko once asked if they would commit suicide if given the chance, and while Hinata had gone silent and Kazuo had looked appalled he merely shook his head and spoke his rejection of such an idea. He had become a cold person, at least in the eyes of the others, he was no stranger to the way Hinata sometimes seemed hesitant to speak with him or how Kazuo and Seiko had cut off all forms of communication or false familiarity with him.

He liked to think he was just being a realist.

* * *

Kazuo came into their pastel room one day with an expression uncharacteristic to his normally serious attitude. Smiling from ear to ear he beckoned everyone to come closer.

"I have a plan to escape," he had said.

And thus began Saruhiko's third stage in Hell.


	6. Chapter 5

"We're breaking out of this place, and we're doing it tonight." Kazuo hissed through clenched teeth, Seiko shivering in his arms and his eyes like sparking flint. Saruhiko didn't bother to question it like Hinata had started to do, wringing his hands and stuttering, and merely nodded, as eager to get out as any of them.

They formulated their plan in a matter of minutes.

Leave the room.

Evade the staff and cameras.

Pickpocket someone for their car keys.

Grab as many cases of Arsinoth as they could carry.

Get outside.

Hot wire a car.

Get the fuck out.

...

It was a simple plan.

* * *

Saruhiko slithered out the set of keys from the man in white's coat pocket without a second's hesitation. Years of making ends meet through other people's hard earned money, he was a professional pick pocket. They snuck away and into the main laboratory reserve, and what awaited them was a white room filled with metal shelves and counter tops all lined in various vials and beckons but none of them what they were looking for. They had never been in the room before, but knew what kind of case Arsinoth came in because every night that black suitcase was totted into their room to give them their injections.

"Grab as many cases as you can!" Kazuo hissed, watching the door as they all rushed to a stack of shelves on which more than several black leather suitcases sat unnatended. They were each able to carry one, the cases lined with mercury to weight them down against robbers and they didn't have enough time to open them and empty out the inside liners. They were granted with the power to kill Kings, not the ability to carry almost two hundred pounds at only ten years old.

They bolted out on Kazuo's signal and they reached an exit door, a side panel that they knew the staff used to go to their cars. They had a four-second window between camera swipes and Seiko had the best scores in lock picking so she took the initiative and the rest of them followed out the open door in no time. There was no alarm, because tonight happened to be the night they reset their alarm, Kazuo had heard of this and formulated their plan.

Out in the dark parking lot the stars above were no consolation to their anxiety driven hearts and they made a bee-line to the car whose back lights lit up when they pressed the function on the car keys. It was a dark colored Jeep and Saruhiko wasted no time in unlocking the car and slipping into the front seat. Hinata scrambled into the back and let out a small cry of triumph, Seiko peering over the top of the passenger's seat she had climbed into and smiled. Machine guns with unloaded cartridges and a couple pistols lay in the back, along with a couple of tool kits. Apparently they had snagged the car keys of a military man who was very unorganized, either that or the man had looted the compound for parts to sell.

Seiko handed Kazuo a loaded gun and he watched from the open driver's doorframe as Saruhiko slipped down to where the pedals were, twisting so that he could rest his legs on the seat and see up into the collection of wires underneath the steering wheel. Kazuo had already said he would drive, though last time Saruhiko's had checked they had all received the same lessons and none of them included how to drive stick. "So uh," Kazuo started, letting out a shaky laugh, "I don't really know how to drive, you guys..." Saruhiko rolled his eyes, expecting the obvious admittance but of course Seiko had to go and be dramatic.

"What do you mean you don't know how to _fucking_ drive?!" Seiko squeaked with tears in her eyes, fisting handfuls of brown hair and tugging at it in fear. Hinata hissed for her to be quiet as Saruhiko worked quickly on jump starting the car and Kazuo scanned around with the machine gun for any unwelcome guests. Saruhiko gnawed on his tongue as he split wires with a scalpel, his night vision telling him what colors went where.

"Got it!" He gasped as the engine roared to life, and scrambled into the backseat as Kazuo slammed the front door and turned the key. Saruhiko and Hinata began slamming cartriges into gun slots while Seiko burst into tears in the front seat as the car revved down the parking hatch. Kazuo had to sit on the case of syringes to see over the steering wheel, leaning down with his tip toes to smash the gas pedal. Sirens added to the commotion as Kazuo swerved madly down the road. From the backseat, Saruhiko looked back through the tinted glass and saw lights flooding the compound, people running out to get to their cars. Kazuo seemed unable to figure out how hard he should press the gas pedal, and yet he refused to even remotely get near the brakes as they needed every second they could get.

Suddenly the rear window shattered in a flash of sound and Hinata and Saruhiko ducked a fraction too late. Saruhiko didn't bother checking for injuries on himself, instead crouching low to check if Hinata was alright. There was glass in the boy's hair and a thin cut on his fragile face but other than that there was nothing amiss. Saruhiko let out a sigh a relief and Hinata blushed bright red, however the moment was cut short with Seiko's cry.

"THEY'RE GAINING ON US! FLOOR IT KAZU FLOOR IT!"

Kazuo suddenly let out a shout of fear and Saruhiko found himself in the air and smashing into the back of the seats. The world was spinning when he opened his eyes, and Saruhiko tried to steady his breathing. The engine was still running but they were no longer barreling forward, and he knew they must have crashed. He reacted as fast as he could, grabbing a machine gun and checking on Hinata. His friend gave him a panic-filled look and Saruhiko just nodded at the hand guns near his feet to be taken with haste.

"Shit..."Kazuo mumbled from the front, the blare of sirens suddenly morphing into their space. Saruhiko clambered opened the back door, the trunk opening up and slid out quickly. He ran to the driver's side and stared in horror at the broken windows and windshield. Blood was streaked down Kazuo's forehead, glass in his face, but he looked over at Saruhiko with a look the boy instantly understood.

"Just go ahead! I'll meet with you on that hill!" Saruhiko knew it was a lie, heard the exhaustion in his friend's voice, heard the defeat. He knew that if he opened the driver's door he would see gore, see the injury that Kazuo couldn't feel.

"I'll keep them safe." Saruhiko nodded and ran over to the passenger's side and dragged out the unhurt yet unconscious Seiko. He left the machine gun on her seat without a spared glance at Kazuo, knowing the other would want his privacy. In place of the machine gun he clamped his teeth around Seiko's Arsinoth case's handle, having to use his hands to hold her in place on his back.

He motioned with his head for Hinata to grab his own case as well as Saruhiko's, the raven following him up and around the large boulder hill they had crashed into despite questioning wildly about Kazuo. Saruhiko struggled with the weight on his back and between his teeth, but pushed forward up the steep mountain incline because he knew if they stopped they would be dragged back to that facility.

Or they would be killed, though personally that didn't bother him in the least.

* * *

Kazuo grimaced as he watched his companions escape up the mountain, and sighed heavily when they were out of view. He looked down and smirked at where the steering wheel had torn a gaping hole in his abdomen. Blood gushed at and he was sure he could see a glistening of intestines. The airbags hadn't deployed for whatever reason, and he was sure there was more internal damage than he thought. It didn't matter though, because the wound and intestines he was staring at were obviously going to be the death of him.

At least he couldn't feel a damn thing.

He heard the sound of shrieking tires and let out a drawn out sigh, unbuckling his seatbelt and grabbing the machine gun from where Seiko's had once sat. He opened his door with pale fingers that were trembling despite feeling no pain, and slid off his case of Arsinoth and onto the dirt road beneath his feet. He held the machine gun and aimed it at the cars that had parked down the road.

He clicked off the safety and fired a barrage of bullets of which the recoil slammed him into the side of the car but he tried his best stay on his feet. He knew he would die, that he was just a distraction so the others had escape, this had all been his conscious decision, and yet it didn't stop the surge of fear from hitting him hard as bullets hit the back of the car and swiped across, pocking holes along the side and hitting him in the sweep. His abdomen tore open like it was made of tissue paper and more than one bullet caught him in the forehead.

Saruhiko cursed softly as he saw Kazuo's heroic sacrifice, as the bullets tore him apart and he slumped against the car as a lifeless corpse. Hinata was sobbing with his face in Saruhiko's side, while Seiko remained unconscious on his back. He had taken the time to remove the mercury packets that lined the inside of the cases, and now Hinata could carry all three without worry. Saruhiko nudged Hinata with his leg and whispered that they need to continue moving, and Hinata followed without complaint and without stopping his tears.

They crossed the mountain and reached the other side by day break, finding themselves on a cliff with a drop of one hundred feet or so. The river below would cradle their fall and they could waste no time. They jumped, the water enveloping them, and they let it carry them down river. They left the river as soon as it began to slow, trekking away and covering their tracks like they had done their entire escape. THey knew how to hide ands survive in the wilderness, had been trained for it, and they did not have to fear capture just yet-even though they could not risk stopping.

Seiko woke up as dusk fell once more, and Saruhiko knew they needed to stop anyway to inject themselves with the first of their stash. Saruhiko drowned out Seiko's sobs with an injection that took his breath away, plunging him into oblivion with flashing lights that made his eyes water even in his sleep.

* * *

The single gunshot that awoke Saruhiko from his strobe dreams was obvious to him, even before Hinata began crying loudly. As the boy emptied his stomach of it's contents he thought it was clear that it would come to this. He came to stand by his sobbing friend, he himself staring blankly at Seiko's ruined head that was now all over the boulder she had rested on. Her instrument of suicide was the pistol still clamped in her jaws, her eyes closed and face bloody and tear stained.

Saruhiko wasn't concerned about how he could stare at her corpse and feel nothing at all, not even the shock of denial. She was dead, he had expected it, and that was that. So he took the logical approach, knowing the gunshot would attract the unwanted attention of their pursuers, and went for the case of Arsinoth she had been holding with her other hand even in death. He pried away still limp fingers not yet frozen in rigamortis and took the case without a sound, but when he turned around to find Hinata staring at him in teary eyed horror, he couldn't help but make a questioning noise.

"Y-You..." Hinata stammered, pretty pink eyes boring into Saruhiko's face with an alarming sharpness. Hinata was unable to finish his sentence, and Saruhiko knew they did not have long to wait before they were ambushed and easily overtaken. The gun he had taken was a cold weight against his lower back and he turned around back to the corpse and gently pulled the gun from the girl's mouth. It made a horrible clacking and slurping sound as he did so, removing it from ruined flesh and congealing blood, but he had heard worse sounds. He checked the cartriage and found it full minus the bullet used in Seiko's suicide, and deemed the gun worthy of taking with them for protection.

They couldn't afford to waste anything, neither ammo nor pity nor time, that was where Saruhiko was coming from, but Hinata jerked away from the outstretched gun like it was vile.

Like Saruhiko was a monster.

It didn't matter though, because he already thought them all as such things.

But Hinata, monster or not, was his best friend and seeing blatant rejection all over the boy's face was chilling despite unable to feel the goosebumps rising on the flesh of his arms.

Saruhiko let out a heavy sigh, knowing of the other boy's sympathetic and emotional nature and went back to where he had been sleeping before. He took his own case and opened it, doing the same with Seiko's. It would be more beneficial if they combined the cases, splitting Seiko's between the Hinata's and Saruhiko's, so he took the foam back of the base of her case, lifting up the countless vials nestled in gray foam, and rested it on top of his own base layer. He took the separating foam from his case and laid it on top of that, and then closed the case. He would take Seiko's separating foam that protected the top vials from touching the base vials and put it in Hinata's case.

"Hinata, pass me your case so we can get moving."

"..."

Saruhiko turned over his shoulder, hissing through his teeth and ready to quip a retort to his friend's silence but found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Hinata continued to cry as he clicked off the safety, "W-who are you and what have you done with Saru?!" His voice echoed around them and Saruhiko felt panic and horror rise within him both at the chance they would be captured soon and the fact that this was Hinata pointing a gun at him.

"They just died and you don't even care!" His words hurt Saruhiko, they hurt like the hemorrhaging of his heart that he had felt that one night they induced Arsinoth deprivation in his body. He watched Hinata's finger tremble on the trigger, and felt little faced with the prospect of death. It wasn't as if he was a creature worthy of life, having taken away so many from those who had done him no wrong. Hinata was telling the truth, his friends had died and he felt no remorse.

A part of him wondered if it was because they had never been very close, Hinata was his Seiko, Seiko now with Kazuo in whatever death would bring, but he knew better.

He didn't care because to him they weren't human.

He wasn't human anymore, and he had lost his humanity long ago.

He tried to swallow but his tongue was rough and thick in his mouth. He smirked at Hinata humorlessly, raising his hands up in surrender to death.

Death by Hinata would be a nice way to go.

"There comes a time when you face death and realize you weren't even alive to begin with."

Hinata stiffened, tears spilling from pretty pink eyes.

"You're cold Saru! Your heart is frozen!"

A gunshot rang in the clearing but it did not come from the gun in Hinata's hand. Saruhiko watched in silent horror, mouth open in disbelief, as Hinata's eyes rolled back into his head and he slumped to the side in a lifeless heap. There was a hole in the boy's temple, blood leaking from it in a steady stream.

Saruhiko fell back on his hands, the Arisnoth case beneath one of his palms, his vision blurring with tears. Breathing was hard, his mind wasn't working, but he heard a man's shout and the world clicked back into place.

If this was to have any meaning he had to escape.

But it wasn't like he was going to bring his heart with him.

After all, ice is heavy.


	7. Chapter 6

Saruhiko awoke with a worn futon beneath him and a damp sheet around him. He lurched into reality with a grab for the rusted metal bucket he had by his bed and dragged it to him violently with a screech of metal on stone.

He emptied his stomach with sore heaving muscles, his mouth left with a bitter taste though he could fell or taste neither. His stone room was illuminated by the light of the sunrise flowing in from the small rectangular cut hole high above him on the wall. The window let in fresh air and sunlight, along with the seeds that had taken root in the stone around him to create ivy patterns.

He was in the abandoned hospital that he had come to call home for the past two weeks. After Hinata's death he had run until his legs gave out, the two cases clutched tightly to his chest. His pursuers gave chase for a few miles but he lost them in the sewers. He hid inside a train car on the outskirts of town and traveled for two days without food or water on it until he reached Shizume City.

It had been pure coincidence that he found himself smack dab in the home of the Kings he was created to kill, half wondering if it was why his pursuers had given up chase. Perhaps they expected him to fufill his duty, but he was not going to give them the satisfaction after all they had taken from him.

Hinata's parting words haunted him on an endless loop, ringing through his head from dawn until dusk, ridding him of all other thoughts.

"You're cold Saru! You're heart is frozen!"

It was driving him mad.

He dragged himself from the futon and stood on shaky legs, he was dressed in the same white outfit smeared with all sorts of things that had faded into tie dye patterns from his vigorous washing. His room was a vault, or perhaps just a very well defended closet. It was empty save the futon and dirty blanket, the vomit filled rusty bucket and his case of Arsinoth, the walls made of stone or pale concrete but the door solid steel with a metal bar for a latch. He lifted the bar and pushed open the door, letting the room air out, and began his day.

He was in an abandoned hospital, on the edge of the bay and surrounded by brush and encroaching trees from the forest that extended from one of Shizume's many city parks. There were no windows, gaping holes in the foundation and cats having found a home in the grim and filth.

* * *

Saruhiko smelled the druggie's stench before he heard the bottle knocking about upstairs. He went rigid, after all that was where he had put Hinata's case of Arsinoth. It had less in it than his own, because his contained half of Seiko's, but the sight of it made him throw up what little he was able to cram into his unsettled stomach. That case was exactly a year of life, a year of Hinata's life he would never be able to live, and the fact he had still taken it after Hinata's death struck him like the death itself.

Was he still so heartless, so cold?

It seemed he was still as selfish as ever.

But now was not the time for such thoughts, and Saruhiko snuck up the concrete steps with a sense of foreboding in his bones. He crept down moss covered hallways and slipped into the only room he cared about: the source of the scent of the intruder.

The man was just a teenager, maybe twenty at the oldest but he dressed like a child. He wore baggy denim jeans that showed nearly all of his blue and white stripped boxers and a heavy dark green jacket that reeked of the perspiration that would come with wearing such a ridiculously heavy jacket in such hot weather. A black beanie was pulled over slicked back flaming red hair, and from how the male was hunched over the dirty counter top, Saruhiko could see the dragon tattoo on the back of his neck.

"What are you doing here?" In hindsight it's a dumb question to ask, seeing that the teen was searching through the cabinets with the clear intent to look for drugs to shoot, and the teen spun around quickly, clearly not expecting to be caught.

Saruhiko saw red.

_Those are mine._

_Those are mine._

_Those are mine._

_"THOSE ARE MINE!"_

He couldn't see anything but the syringe in the vile man's hand, the syringe teetered so precariously in those dirty fingers. He was angry, furious, and overwhelmed with terror that the syringe might have once belonged to Hinata, that it was a day that Hinata could have lived but wasn't given the chance to.

He lunged forward like a madman, blinded to reason and having forgotten all the studies he had learned. He was unable to call forth his martial arts, too consumed by the sudden hate overflowing from his heart. He wanted these people to die, he wanted him to die because he threatened to take that which was most precious to him.

He lunged at the man and received a mouthful of blood. An explosion that sounded like that of squished fruit, a wet meaty sound akin to the times he had spent on a metal table. His anger vanished as soon as it had come, and he stared in horror at the mess of what used to be a human being. Pulsing organs and viscous tissue lay everywhere, blood dripping noisily from cabinet and tables and giving the room a sickening paint job.

Saruhiko was in shock, unsure of what had just transpired, he looked down at himself and found himself drenched in blood from head to toe. He spat out gobs of blood, unsure if it was his own, and methodically picked chips of bone from his shirt and arms. He stumbled over to the blood splattered sink and began to clean himself with an old mold covered dish rag. His mind was still stuttering, the gears trying to turn but stuck in stiff mud.

He looked up, faced with his bloody visage in the dirty mirror in front of him. In horror he stumbled backwards, his back hitting the table behind him, clattering old beakers and causing a sudden rain of blood off the side. He had killed before, done it with the thought that he was going to be stuck under those men's thumbs for the rest of his life-that he had no choice but to kill to survive.

But here that hadn't been the case.

And yet he had used it, he knew he had.

The power to kill Kings.

He had never used it before, but he could feel an unseen power lurking beneath his soul. And here he had taken away a life despite having been able to deal with the situation in a different way. Tears formed in his eyes and spilled down his blood stained face.

"I...I really am cold..." He whimpered, clenching his fists in a way he knew would draw blood. He left the room in a daze, trying to figure out how to clean away all the blood and guts, all the while trying to keep his head on straight. Tears blurred his vision, and he felt like scum.

"Oh God...I want to die."

* * *

In the wake of his murder, Saruhiko had gone mad. He locked himself in his room for weeks upon end, only leaving to tear open a cat or relieve himself in the bushes outside. He had stopped crying after the first week, stopped trying to scrub the blood away from the lab by the second, and by the time a month had passed he had lost the will to live.

Curled up on his mattress he tried to overdose himself on Arsinoth in hopes of ending his life, instead falling into a four day long coma that did nothing but leave him blind for hours after awakening. He wondered if he should find a new place to live since the blood stains weren't coming out, the small intestines had gotten lodged in the ceiling tiles and he couldn't find anything high enough to stand on to attempt to pull the rotting organ down.

He didn't know where he could possibly go, didn't know if he even cared anymore. He started to hallucinate in his nutrient and sleep deprived state of grieving, Seiko and Kazuo would appear in the empty halls and stare at him silently, Komoro Honshu would stand at the top of stairwells and grin down at him. Hinata never showed, and for that Saruhiko was infinitely thankful for.

Until one day, he was sure he saw the boy stumbling outside under a dark and stormy sky. Saruhiko was torn between felling like putting a bullet in his brain and running after the retreating figure, and finally he himself found the courage to dart from his abandoned sanctuary and out under a sky promising an oncoming storm. He bare feet sunk in mud as he raced after the boy, the outline so familiar and in his mind's eye all he could see was Hinata.

He didn't care that his clothes were stained in pink and brown from the blood that refused to be scrubbed out, didn't care that he looked like he came straight out of a zombie flick with his malnourished appearance and wildly bloodshot eyes. He didn't care that he was crying, didn't know because he couldn't feel it, and he didn't care that was chasing a hallucination into the woods of the city park.

It was only until the figure stopped to rest beside a thick tree did he realize his mistake. This boy's hair was auburn, his eyes a warm brown, his skin a nice light tan, and his clothes fit baggier than anything Hinata would have worn. No, the light pink eyes, the fair skin with beauty mark beneath his eye, his beutiful cropped black hair was gone and with it his resolve.

Saruhiko slumped into mud a ways away, going boneless against the side of a tree. He had felt such elation, such longing at the sight of his long lost love or whatever Hinata had been to him, but alas it was nothing but an illusion. The boy, upon futher examination, was the same age as him, around twelve years old, and his face was smeared with tears.

"Oka-san..." the boy whimpered, rubbing the tears from his eyes with dirty fists. Saruhiko just stared at the boy blankly, unable to find it in himself to care that the boy was lost when he himself was so very lost. He felt like lightning could strike him down at that moment and he wouldn't protest in the slightest, and in that he found shame.

Hinata would hate him for being so careless, for wanting to die when he himself had been denied the right to live. He watched as they boy stumbled away, crying out for his mother and his sister and the rest of his cries were drowned out by the sudden rolling of thunder. The crashing sound of lightening striking nearby was enough to drag Saruhiko from his collapsed stupor, and he pulled himself up with sluggish movements.

There was a church nearby, nestled in the sparse forest of the city park, an abandoned establishment that had gone under after an Anti-Christian movement in Shizume that gained quite a bit of publicity. Now the trashed and graffiti structure with a ceiling full of rotting holes was a haven for the homeless, but as fall had begun to melt into winter, the homeless fled for a more insulated building and so it would be empty for Saruhiko. He was thankful the homeless had encroached further into the city and had left his tainted abode alone, or else he would really be pressed to find a new place to live.

He trudged with no real purpose towards the defaced building, a part of him not caring if he got utterly soaked in the soon to be falling rain. He pulled open the heavy wooden door and was met with a waft of dank musty air. Inside there were two rows of pews, some smashed and toppled over, the stained glass adoring the walls was shattered and fractured, the floor littered with bags of chips and dead leaves, and the only thing untouched in the dismantled church was the marble alter that stood at the top of wooden steps.

As soon as the door closed behind him with a resounding thud, Saruhiko felt lightheaded and dizzy. It was probably because he hadn't eaten in six days or had any water in four, but it could have also been because he was utterly broken. Outside lightning flashed and was followed immediately by crashing thunder, the remnants of stained glass sparking into vibrant color for an instant before resuming their dull appearance. Wind whistled loudly through the holes in the building, the frigid air permeating through his damp mud soaked clothes but he ignored the chill he couldn't feel. Rain drummed heavily on the roof and came in through the holes, adding to the mold riddled atmosphere.

Saruhiko heard someone laughing.

He looked up blearily from where he stood in front of the door and stared at Seiko from where she sat perched on a splintered pew, her head a ruined mess and her laughter gargling blood. Her shrill choking laughter was too much to listen to and he clapped his hands over his ears and stumbled forward, if only to get away from the cackling corpse. Instead he bumped into Kazuo's bullet ridden corpse, intestines spilling from a gash in his abdomen and his eyes like flint.

"You didn't protect her." His voice was raspy, the sound of something lodged within his throat, most likely a bullet. Saruhiko shrieked, skirting around the corpse with his limbs tucked in tight, something in the back of his mind saying that he shouldn't have been able to feel a hallucination.

He teetered side to side as he stared at the altar with an open mouth and outstretched hands. "Hinata..." he whimpered, the feminine boy sitting cross legged on the altar with a smile on his lips, blood matting either sides of his temples. His knees suddenly buckled and he crawled through the filth with stars in his eyes, staring at Hinata like he was the sun himself.

He dully registered someone grabbing at him, a worried voice that sounded strange to him-like he was underwater, but all he cared about was getting to Hinata. He made it up the altar steps, leaning on an elbow to reach out further to the boy who continued to smile at him serenely and unchanging, stretching as far as his joints would allow, because if he could just brush the hem of Hinata's pants he would be saved.

He would be forgiven.

But before he could do so he was put into a headlock, yanked back so fast he was choking on air, and tears spilled from his eyes as he screamed out profanities and beat at his captor weakly. He turned around viciously, squirming in the person's hold, and his face contorted in horror at the sight of Komoro Honshu grinning at him. "Dying is all you're good for!" Seiko shrieked behind the wicked scientist's shoulder- "Freak! Whore! Worthless thing!" Kazuo chimed.

"I hate you, Saru, you and your heart of ice." Saruhiko whipped around to stare in horror at the altar, at the corpse of Hinata that began rotting before his eyes. By the time his eyes rolled and lolled from his socket, Saruhiko found himself sinking into Komoro Honshu's arms as he fainted into oblivion.

* * *

Saruhiko awoke to an unfamiliar ceiling, the scent of antiseptic and medical equipment flooding his sense of smell and causing panic to flare within him. He thought of Komoro Honshu's grin as he writhed in his grasp, of Hinata's corpse rotting on the altar, and bolted upright from the cot in which he lay. "Relax" said a voice and Saruhiko suddenly realized he was in a small clinic, test and beakers lining selves, a microwave in the corner, an examining table in the middle, his cot far to the wall.

And there was a blonde man standing in a lab coat in the doorway, piercing green eyes and a crooked smile. "You were saying all sorts of weird things back in that church, totally tripping out, little dude." Saruhiko squinted at the man, wearing glasses but unable to understand if the man was really a doctor or just an idiot.

"You were dehydrated and severely malnourished, causing delirium and hallucinations. I administered you fluids and nutrients, and you've been asleep for four hours, so go back to sleep." Saruhiko grit his teeth and began to pull the tubes from his arms.

"Woah! Stop that, you're going to hurt yourself!"

Saruhiko shot the man a glare, freezing him from running to him, "Look I'm thankful for what you've done for me but I have things to do and places to be." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, "I have something to get but I'll be back in a few hours, leave the bed empty for me."

He stalked passed the man without another word, and the doctor didn't chase after him. It wasn't that he had anything against the man in particular, more that he just detested doctors in general.

He retrieved the two cases of Arsinoth and stalked back to the underground doctor's clinic, keeping the cases behind him while he let the man reinsert the tubes. "So what's your name?" asked the doctor, eying the cases the boy kept behind his back for safe keeping. "I think I should know your's first." Saruhiko quipped back, reaching back with one hand to keep tabs on the cases that meant his life.

The doctor smiled, though Saruhiko questioned it geniality.

"Nagare Hisui."


	8. Chapter 7

Months passed and he fell in and out of Nagare's care. It turned out that his skills in healthcare were useful to the man, and he was offered a part time job as his assitant, which Saruhiko accepted. He left the hell of the abandoned hospital and lived on the streets for a few weeks while he pickedpocketed from morning to dusk. He persuaded Nagare to pretend to be his guardian and pay the estate agent to allow him his own apartment, having scrounged enough money for one and then some.

He had decided to try going to school, wanting to try and fit back into society, and so he enrolled into a joint middle-highschool, and thus began the newest chapter in his life.

* * *

Saruhiko felt like crying.

Sitting in his new classroom, surrounded by children his own age as they chatted with their friends, he felt like he was in a void. There was no one he knew, no one he cared to know, and a part of him wondered why he was trying to fit in to society at all. He knew what they were going to teach, knew more than the teacher himself, and in terms of human interaction he found himself not in want of it.

Nagare had been kind, but Saruhiko wasn't going to take his chances. The man had something off about him, in the way he looked at him, and even though his smile was kind, his eyes were piercing. Saruhiko knew that expression well, and would only continue their partnership if it would benefit him and detriment him not.

The hallucinations had gone, he no longer heard Seiko's manic laugh and saw Kazuo's accusing glare in the darkness of the night, and Hinata's corpse had ceased to stalk him. He felt hollow, a raw emptiness in his heart, and he wondered like he always did if he was a heartless person. He didn't want to be heartless, but to have a heart was to feel, was to love, and all that he had loved had been taken away through his own undoing.

Someone came into the classroom, loudly and without restraint, and he lifted his head wearily from his desk, from where he had pillowed his throbbing head in the cradle of his arms. What he saw was the boy from the woods, but instead of a sobbing brat he saw a spit fire lad in hastily arranged clothing. Bright brown eyes twinkling as he greeted a boy in class and sun kissed auburn hair that bounced around his ears and under his chin.

He looked like a nice boy, until someone threw a paper airplane at the back of his head and he started screaming profanities that shouldn't come out of a twelve year old's mouth. The shock of it startled Saruhiko and he found himself sitting rigid in his chair, a smile tugging incessantly at the corner of his mouth as laughter tried and succeeded to flow from his lips.

The sound of his own laugh caught his off guard, as he couldn't remember the last time he had laughed at all.

The boy turned on his like lightning, pointing an accusing finger at him as if he had thrown the airplane but he hadn't. "What you laughing at?!" the boy shouted, eyebrows knitted in anger and all traces of that crying frightened boy had disappeared. Saruhiko almost thought he was imagining the semblance, that that boy and this boy couldn't possibly be the same, but the scent was the same, and for that Saruhiko knew they were the same person.

Before he could reply the teacher came in and everyone shuffled back to their seats, the mysterious angry boy boring holes into the back of Saruhiko's head. He sat through classes that day in a haze, wanting to put his head down and sleep or just stand up during the lecture and casually stroll out.

Because literally everything that came out of the teacher's mouth was something he knew.

And so he had deemed his attempt at fitting back into society as boring and useless.

Until lunch rolled around, that is.

The students fled the classroom like they were being chased by lions, while only Saruhiko lingered back. It wasn't like he would feel the grumbling of his stomach if he skipped lunch, and it wasn't like he had taken the time to even pack his own lunch to begin with, so he had decided to stick around and take a nice power nap on his desk.

But it seemed that the mystery boy who apparently hated him had other plans for him.

"You're the new kid, huh?" the boy asked from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and a frown planted firmly on his face. Saruhiko didn't know if the boy was trying to pick a fight with him or trying to figure him out somehow, and so he just stared from his seat with owlish eyes and a perplexed expression. The boy huffed and let his arms drop, "Look dude, it's not nice to laugh at someone. So apologize to me." Despite how his words sounded his voice was that of a reprimanding sibling, and Saruhiko cocked his head to the side in confusion. So apparently the spit fire wasn't all flames, he could be water as well.

"Sorry, for laughing at you, uh-I don't know your name..." The kid nodded, walking his way, "Yata Misaki, and you are?" He held out his hand for a shake and Saruhiko once again had the urge to laugh, how funny that such a foul mouthed boy would be such a softy. Nevertheless he quelled his amusement and schooled himself into a neutral expression, reaching out to shake the boy's hand.

"Fushimi Saruhiko."

* * *

As a year ticked by, Saruhiko found himself becoming fast friends with Yata Misaki, whom he affectionately called by his feminine first name. He didn't know what it was about the other boy, perhaps it was the others genuine interest in him, but he found himself finding a purpose in life by being the boy's best friend.

Of course he would never share the secrets that lurked in his darkness, how could he, but Misaki used him as his therapist to listen to all his problems. Misaki came from a broken family, a deadbeat father and a mother who had skipped out Misaki and his little sister Moe not a week before he and Saruhiko 'first met'. Saruhiko understood it as the reason why the boy had stumbled out in the wind and rain, crying for the mother that wasn't coming back, but of course kept his mouth shut on the topic.

His little sister was in the hospital constantly with a heart condition, and Saruhiko was often taken on the boy's visits. She was getting worse every time they saw her, and Saruhiko could practically see death hanging over her lithe form like a dark cloud. But of course Misaki refused to accept it, and continue to act like nothing was wrong in public, while in the confines of Misaki's bedroom he would cry into Saruhiko's chest like the child he was and the one that Saruhiko never had the chance to be.

When the doctors finally gave the news, when the blanket was drawn over the poor girl's ashen face, Misaki's father had finally showed up to the hospital, as if predicting his own daughter's death. The loss of his sibling and the sight of his shit faced father threw Misaki in a rage so bad he would have killed the man if Saruhiko had caught the shrieking boy by the arms at the last minute.

Misaki's family was poor, his father was dumped the hospital fees everyone knew he would never be able to pay off, and, only a week after Moe's death, Sataro Yata put a bullet in his brain. Misaki's house was foreclosed by the bank to pay off the debts, and the boy barely scrambled away with his bare minimums. Of course, now the boy was orphaned and homeless but was still able to go to school since it was free.

He inducted Misaki into his home, allowing the other to set up his things alongside his own, and just smiled at the other as Misaki went on and on about wanting to get bunk beds. Despite all of the tragedy surrounding the red head, he refused to let it bring him down. He was a spit fire ball of energy, both of them delinquents who found school too boring to attend, though for different reasons.

He was happy, Saruhiko was happy, and that in and of itself was something disconcerting. He expected to see Hinata around corners again as he fell into depression's clutches once more. His heart ached when he snuck out the Arsinoth from where he kept it hidden in a panel underneath his bed, depressing the plunger of the syringe and watching the black ink disappear into his veins while the sounds of Misaki playing on his game controller beeping softly from the other side of the room.

He told Misaki it was a genetic disorder that caused him to vomit every time he woke up, and Misaki hounded him about it for a while but then let it go. He didn't like keeping secrets from Misaki, even though his whole life was one big secret. He wondered if he was replacing Hinata with Misaki in his heart, but knew that wasn't the case. Hinata's half of his heart was still there, fractured in a million pieces but still there.

Floating in the darkness of his being.

* * *

"You know this'll cost you more than a couple of bills, right?" Nagare Hisui leered at him, and Saruhiko's stomach sank. He had formed what he had thought to be a weak friendship with the man, but a friendship nonetheless, and this clear betrayal hurt like the pain he had only felt once. He had known the man for three years, going back and forth as his low paid assistant.

He was in the man's clinic, the underground doctor holding the stack of bills Saruhiko had pick pocketed all weekend to get. He was quickly running out of Arsinoth, sparing one vial for Nagare Hisui to study and replicate, the other twenty coveted greedily at his home. He had faith that the genius had the resources to make another one, he had faith that he had gathered enough money to placate his 'friend', but he had been wrong about the latter. He knew that look, the look that his father's friends sometimes threw him when he got too close, leading him to sleeping under the house for the night just to be safe.

"Sick fuck." Saruhiko hissed, balling his fists in anger but not making any move for the door as he knew he had no other option. He had to stay on the man's good side if he wanted to live, this apparent pedophile was the only way he was going to continue his existence as Yata Misaki's best friend. Nagare Hisui just shrugged with a lopsided smile, "Everyone has their kinks." Saruhiko bared his teeth and the man laughed, undeterred.

"It's just a blow job, I'm not gonna bend you over or anything." Saruhiko didn't think it was any better, at least if he was being fucked from behind he wouldn't have to look at the man, and wouldn't be forced in inhale that...filth, so closely. The man undid his belt buckle and unzipped his pants, and Saruhiko felt like grabbing the nearest scalpel and slitting his own throat, but if he did that Misaki would be alone and that was something he just couldn't do.

Yes, Saruhiko's only reason for living was Misaki, without him, he would have nothing.

* * *

"Saru, you feeling okay? You look a little under the weather..." Misaki asked, leaning into his field of vision with a concerned expression. Saruhiko wanted to laugh at the irony, a part of him wanting to shake and scream at him that no, he was not feeling okay, because although he couldn't taste it, couldn't feel the clogging of his airways, he had felt like something was wrong inside of him. His superior sense of smell had driven him mad during, and he was tempted to bite off what was choking him, but if he did then he would die. He wanted to cry, to cling to Misaki, to use his powers on Hisui and splatter his lying guts all over the walls of his ridiculously clean office. But he wasn't going to do any of that, he had more self control, and he masked his pain with a muted shrug.

"I'm fine, I didn't sleep much last night is all."

Misaki nodded, having no reason not to believe his lie, and Saruhiko let himself drop his head back so he could rest it on the edge of Misaki's bed. They were in their room, sitting on the floor as they played video games, but it seemed that Misaki was going to be considerate and let him try and sleep because he turned off the console. "You can try and get some rest on the bed, baka Saru, I'll go to the living room for a few hours, okay?" Saruhiko nodded, not exactly tired but sleeping away his problems for a bit sounded appealing, and he crawled onto the soft blue sheets while Misaki left the room in silence.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow, but his dreams were not as kind, and he found little rest as he drowned in a world filled with grabbing hands and Nagare Hisui's feral grin.

However he was used to cruelty.

He was fifteen years old.


	9. Chapter 8

"Neh Saru, wanna go to the arcade?! They just put in a new game!" Misaki said, bouncing into the living room with a grin on his face. It was a friday and the boys had skipped school for the umpteenth time, beating the heat inside their apartment. Misaki had apparently gotten bored of playing his handheld video game and was set on disturbing Saruhiko's attempt at meditating on the couch. He was trying to meditate, having just come back from yet another 'exchange' with Nagare and wanting to drown in his anguish but Misaki was not helping. He managed a small grin and sat up from his full stretch on the pale green couch, "Sure Misaki, if that's what you want."

Misaki nodded and they were out and about in the heat in an instant. The arcade was nearby, a nice little place that Misaki had gotten a job at and constantly pestered Saruhiko to do the same. However, Saruhiko knew that if he got a job at the arcade he would lose track of time, possibly straying past midnight and hemorrhaging to death as a result. Unfortunately it seemed that the arcade was closed that day because of renovations and Misaki threw a mini tantrum until Saruhiko presented him with the console he had abandoned at their apartment, brought just for such a predicament.

They settled for lounging by a street lamp, still dressed in their school uniforms because they had planned on going to school in the morning and then even after deciding not to they just didn't feel the need to change. Saruhiko had purchased a cherry cola to beat the heat, and they were sharing the drink while Misaki played his console with unrestrained anger at the denial of a nice day at the arcade. Saruhiko sipped the bitter sweet drink and stared off into space, wondering what the soda would taste like if he had taste buds and whether the taste of Nagare would be gone by then. The man was an asshole, making Arsinoth in small batches so Saruhiko would have to come back for more at least twice a month.

Saruhiko had gotten used to the smell, but the anger and humiliation that welled inside him was escalating to new levels each time. He wondered if Nagare would get bored of oral and force him into anal, and he wondered if when that time ever came he would be uncooperative. It would be a better deal than the man shoving his nose into his crotch, at least he wouldn't smell it all so strongly, but then he might get injured and then have to explain to Misaki why the back of his pants resembled a girl's on the first day of her period.

Misaki snatched the bottle from his, grumbling something about 'shitty managers' and took long gulps. Saruhiko watched Misaki forlornly, not because of his lost tasteless drink who's only redeeming quality was keeping him hydrated, but because he was thinking about what would happen if Misaki knew what he did to live each day, and if he knew why he did it. He suffered so much every night, just so he would have the next day with this boy who had become his whole world.

Misaki swore and tossed the bottle in a fit of childish rage, and Saruhiko winced when it soared in the direction of a group of apparent gangsters. He and Misaki were used to fighting, they weren't exactly popular students after all, and Saruhiko could easily take them all single handedly, but if he did so Misaki would know he wasn't normal, because a normal sixteen year old didn't know which pressure points to press in order to cause cerebral aneurysms.

However a man with bright red hair in an odd black leather jacket trimmed in fur despite the heat, grabbed the bottle from the air and tipped it back. Saruhiko stared at the man as he finished their drink and tossed it back with a smirk, the bottle igniting in pink flames and landing on the ground in a puddle of liquid glass. Saruhiko felt like melting along with the soda, his face going paler than was probably healthy.

Saruhiko knew who this man was despite never seeing his face before.

This was a King.

A King he was created to kill.

He schooled himself into a false innocent curiosity when the blonde man in sunglasses offered them a chance to join their Clan before the group walked away, while inside he was writhing in fear and abject horror. When Misaki enthusiastically said they should 'totally join', Saruhiko wanted to burst into tears, to shake the boy and scream that if he did that he might ruin everything they had.

But he was used to losing what he loved.

* * *

He had always thought Kings to be conceited individuals obsessed with power, though he had never felt ill will towards them for it. However this King, _his _King now, Mikoto Suoh, was the opposite of everything he had believed. The man was lazy, humble, silent, and his Clan consisted of damaged people-something Saruhiko was quick to catch.

Damaged goods can recognize one of their own, after all.

There was Chitose, a man ruined by abusive women, and Dewa, Chitose's fall back friend that was so clearly in love with the man but his feelings were obviously one sided. Bando had an inferiority complex towards his childhood friend/rival Shohei who acted like a ball of sunshine but Saruhiko could once again see the pain of a one sided crush.

Everyone seemed to come in pairs, even Fujishima-who burned holes through his pockets when money was thrown his way, and Eric-a sexually abused boy who had been imprisoned by the very gang his late parents had once run. Yamamoto was Misaki's childhood friend, and although he was happy Misaki had found a friend, had found a home in these people, Saruhiko couldn't help his jealousy.

It was so very easy to see that Misaki would find help with these people.

He could be cured of his loneliness in Homra, and for that reason alone, Saruhiko held his tongue.

Misaki never said it, but Saruhiko could see his pain as clear as day. The brunette needed a home to make up for the one he never really had, needed a family to support and protect him, and these were things that Saruhiko could never give him.

Saruhiko was humble enough to acknowledge when he'd been beaten.

A year crawled by agonizingly slow for him, with him sitting on bar stools and staring at the friend who had all but forgotten his existence. Saruhiko was no longer the center of his focus, his friendship taken for granted, and more often than not Saruhiko would return to their apartment alone, Misaki sleeping in one of the various guest rooms of Homra's second floor. He found himself surrounded by more people than ever, and yet he was so lonely in the crowd. Mikoto's only ambition in life seemed to be to take it easy, fighting rag-time gangs and their rival the Blue Clan, content to play the part of the city thug. Saruhiko didn't get him, didn't _want_ to get him, and was terrified of getting close to the man in worry that his powers would activate and he would end yet another life that had done no wrong.

He would walk with them back from fights, down the dingy back alleyways of their city, and catch sight of dead cats or other animals mauled by disturbed individuals.

He couldn't ignore the longing of desperately wanting to join them in the afterlife, after all, his purpose in life had gone and abandoned him.

Totsuka Tatara was the center of Homra, in that he was the weakest but most beloved of them all. Saruhiko couldn't bare to look at him, so much like Hinata that he accidentally reffered to the blonde as such, only to fumble over his words and have Bando snort at him. Only Anna, an abused orphan who had been taken under Mikoto's wing, a colorblind girl to all but red, only she recognized his pain. She was a psychic strain, staring at Saruhiko with the clear purpose of reading his mind, probing his thoughts, and Saruhiko was able to pinpoint the exact moment his fate had been decided for him. Her face turned several shades paler than she already was and, to save her the anguish, he slid off his stool and left the building.

The conversation he overheard Mikoto and Izumo having about her discovery was nothing he hadn't expected, but it still hurt nonetheless.

* * *

"I don't think it's a good idea to have him around anymore, I definitely don't want him near Anna."

"Alright...whatever you say...but how do you think Yata's going to take it?"

"I just don't want him in Homra, not out of Yata's life-though maybe that would be best."

"I don't think either of them are going to take this all very well..."

"It doesn't matter, if he's a threat to anyone here then I won't allow him to stay. I'll disband him myself tomorrow."

"There's no need, I was going to leave today anyway." Saruhiko interjected, stepping out from where he had been standing behind the doorframe. Izumo was standing behind the bar, polishing one of his prized glasses and looking at him pale and concerned, while Mikoto looked on the verge of setting him on fire.

It's not like he would resist if he did.

"So I take it you heard all of it?" Mikoto asked, eyebrows drawn and the most animated that Saruhiko had ever seen him, finally fitting the stereotype of the King he had once held in his mind. Saruhiko nodded, "I was going to leave, I didn't think I fit here anyway. Sorry if I gave you reason to worry." He didn't wait to hear or see their reaction to his words, and merely drifted out the back door like the ghost he wished he was.

* * *

It was raining, the sky crying the tears he refused to shed. It wasn't like he lost anything new, he had known Misaki was lost to him from the moment he saw the sparks engulf the boy's hand as he shook the hand of their new King. He felt hollow, and at the same time he felt whole. It was like he had no will to do anything, the very fact that he was walking forward was nothing but the momentum of his sorrow. In the back of his mind, he registered someone talking to him, but he didn't care about that.

He didn't care about anything anymore.

But then the owner of that voice put a hand on his shoulder, and Saruhiko was forced back into the present, forced back into having to play a part in society. He would play their games for a while longer, just a bit more until midnight and then he would allow that pain to consume him as his internal organs failed him.

He deserved to suffer for all that he had taken, for all he had been denied.

"Aren't you Fushimi Saruhiko from Homra?" the voice was familiar, Saruhiko recognizing it as belonging to the Red Clan's greatest rival, the Blue Clan's leader.

Resi Munakata, the fourth and Blue King, the leader of Scepter4.

Saruhiko wondered if he would kill him then and get it over with.

"What are you doing out in this storm, are you alright?" Saruhiko wanted to ask the other the same thing, until he realized that he had strolled right into Scepter4's territory, right to the back of their headquarters. Saruhiko didn't bother to lie, sick of life in its entirety, "I left Homra, I didn't belong there." He watched the King cock his head to the side, a small smile on his face, and Saruhiko wondered what was going through the other male's head.

"Do you think Scepter4 would be more apt to your tastes?"

Saruhiko stalled, unsure of the answer as the thought had never crossed his mind. He had lost his life's purpose to the Red Clan, even though he knew it was for the best, but if he was with the Blue Clan then he would gain Misaki's attention once more. Even if he caused the other strife, the other was looking his way, he would be once again a part of Misaki's life. Saruhiko nodded, and Munakata drew his sword.

The man knighted him, and Saruhiko felt the cold blue power of the Blue Clan take residence beside the red flame ghosting about his shattered soul.

"Welcome to Scepter 4, Saruhiko."

He was such a selfish soul, with such a bitter, cold heart.


	10. Chapter 9

Saruhiko burned his flesh with the flames he'd been given and, while he outwardly smiled to spur on Misaki's hatred and thus his attention, inside he was crying at the pain he was putting his only living friend through. Scepter4 was Homra natural enemy, always coming to put down their riots whenever their King unleashed his own fire, and Misaki was Homra incarnate.

Saruhiko had a sneaking suspicion that Mikoto did it solely to gain Munakata's attention, just like Saruhiko was doing now with Misaki. Of course, Mikoto's feelings for Munakata seemed to be romantic, something only Saruhiko could spot from his looks towards the other. However for Misaki he felt neither romantic nor filial, neither platonic nor obsessive, it was just that Misaki was his reason for living, and for that he adored him.

Scepter4 was everything Homra was not, they were neat and organized and there was no 'family' feeling to them, although they were all on good terms. Saruhiko didn't know why it had happened, but he had used his skills to rewire their system after a hacker brought it down and suddenly he was thrust into position as third in command. He tried not to use the skills he had learned, even when it could help him, because it just brought back memories he would rather shelve.

He sold his apartment for enough money to shove in Nagare's face without him asking for oral sex for once, but Saruhiko knew it was a one time deal. The man was a King now, the Green King, to be precise, his predecessor gone of old age, and Saruhiko laughed at the irony. The man had informed him that he was running out of supplies to make cases of Arsinoth for him, that there wasn't enough of the products in the world to go around. He estimated that Saruhiko would have enough for another three years, capping off his life at twenty years of age.

Saruhiko couldn't find it in himself to be afraid of death, since it was a constant presence in his life.

What he desperately wanted to embrace and at the same time desperately avoid.

Because with death came judgement.

And he knew what the verdict would be without the gavel ever having to fall.

There is no pity for the damned.

He moved into his dorm apartment and furnished it not. He had no use for sentimentalities when all he was doing anymore was scraping by to survive. Saruhiko didn't know if he could call what he was doing living, scrounging at Misaki's hatred for attention for an excuse to continue his own existence. He found little pleasure in his job at Scepter4, taking some amusement at the amount of bean paste that the lieutenant would smothered everything she ate and offered to eat in, but other than that he was in a constant state of exhaustion.

He took naps whenever he could, not caring that the lieutenant constantly chastised him for it. His new King, his _Captain, _seemed to be enamored with him because he was concerned for him. He had seen the looks the other had shot to his wrists, the skin he had always covered with sweat bands to hide the scars from where his hands had been reattached. He hadn't ever been able to figure out why they would do such a thing, other than because they were monsters.

They had made no move to retreive him, and that alone bothered him more than anything. Surely they would come and find him sooner or later, or did they really think he was going to complete his prerogative? He prayed they wouldn't have a trick up their sleeves, that it would be impossible to for them to control him via his mind or the Arsinoth in his veins. He thought he was safe, that he had found a place where he could spend his last three years in peace...

And then the Colorless King killed Totsuka Tatara.

With only a year left of Arsinoth before his death.

* * *

The nineteen year old sobbed openly into the sheets of his bed, curled in fetal position and heaving muscles with overwhelming sorrow. His voice was hoarse from all the screaming he had done into the cheap pillows on his couch and had moved into his bedroom to relieve the rest of his anguish. It was just so _perfect, _wasn't it? How coincidental that the Colorless King kill _Totuska-_the heart of Homra, best friend of the Red King? The brat, whoever the he was, clearly wanted to start a war with the Red Clan, which meant the Blue Clan would get in the middle of it as well.

And then there was talk of the Silver King as they sent in helicopters towards the zeppelin, and then that had crashed and the man was presumed dead but Saruhiko knew better. He knew what the Immortal King was capable of, after all. And when it came to the Silver King, the Gold King wasn't far behind, their history entwined so heavily.

_Five Kings. _

Five _fucking_ Kings.

It couldn't have been more perfect for them, for Komoro Honshu and his wish to wipe the Kings from the face of the Earth. The death of his best friend tore Mikoto Suoh apart, clear as day, taken into custody to monitor his crumbling sword, that if allowed to fall would decimate the whole city population and take the other Kings out with him. Saruhiko wondered if Komoro had planned the whole thing, knowing that Saruhiko didn't hate the Kings-couldn't call out his power in turn, and was going to take out thousands upon thousands of lives just because he _could. _

And Saruhiko couldn't stop any of it.

If all went according to the Blue King's agenda, he would be stabbing his sword through the heart of the man who loved him. The man clearly had no idea that the other held affection for him, because Saruhiko was certain he could not speak of killing him with such a calm face if he did.

It reminded him of himself and Hinata.

He sobbed harder.

* * *

It was snowing and Saruhiko played his part.

He fought Misaki with all of his best acting skills, knowing that his eyes were dry no matter how much he wanted to cry. This boy had become his reason, and Saruhiko hated himself in that moment as they crossed metals, hated that he had allowed Misaki to take Hinata's place as his sunshine. This boy had nothing on Hinata, not that he hated or blamed the ginger, and though he had genuinely enjoyed the boy's company and friendship, he could no longer play this charade. He had dumped each and every bottle of Arsinoth down his shower drain, watched the black ink of his life bleed into the sewage system and felt nothing.

But that was nothing new.

He would die that night either by a bullet through his brain that he put there himself or by waiting out the clock and dying in excruciating agony that a human soul would be unable to take.

But he wasn't human.

He didn't think he had ever been human.

He stood with the others and watched the twin swords in opposite condition flicker in the sky like beacons of death. The members of Homra down below the bridge were in various states of tension, and he didn't blame them. Their King was going to die that night, and there was nothing any of them could do about it. He didn't want Mikoto Suoh to die by the hands of the man he loved, just like he hadn't wanted Hinata to die because of his carelessness. He had been shallow, naive, and cold back then...and he didn't think he had changed in that regard.

How could he be anything other than cold if he was standing here staring at the people who loved Mikoto Suoh, when he himself could not save him.

He could do nothing but destroy.

He could do nothing but destroy.

He could do nothing but destroy.

So why did he want to save these people from their suffering so badly? He didn't know how to help anyone, only how to cause them pain. He put all those that he loved through suffering, most of them dead by his own naivety, so how could this time be any different?

He could do nothing but destroy.

He could do nothing but destroy.

He could do nothing but destroy.

...

So that was all he would do.

He slipped from the Blue Clan with the prowess of a shadow, and in an instant he had stolen one of the motorbikes parked by the Red Clan haphazardly on the sidewalk. He sped away before anyone heard or saw him, and maneuvering the machine through the streets was much easier than he had thought. His mind was blank, his hands guiding the bike on autopilot to the Gold King's tower, and when he got there he moved as fast as he could. He parkoured up the nooks and crannies that made up the decor that surrounded the tower like a series of footholds placed there just for him. He scaled up the tall building without care of how high up he was, without fear of falling. As he neared the glass windows that made up the top room where the Gold King and surely the Dresden Slate was, he felt the Red and Blue Aura's in his cold but beating heart pulse in excitement.

He saw the Gold King leaning over a transparent casket, and Saruhiko recognized the body as belonging to the Silver King. He looked back at the fight and grew worried when he saw the two added swords in the sky. He didn't have time to wonder why or how the Silver King was over there and not in the body he was looking at. He knew what Mikoto would do now that the Colorless King was standing before him like a four course meal. He slipped in through a duct and in a moment he had entered the great room, and made quick work of knocking the elderly King out through pressure points on his neck. He carried the man outside and then took the body from the casket and did the same. There were no cameras pointed at them, so he didn't have to worry about being seen, now all he had to do was do what he did best.

Destroy.

The large room was all to himself, and he walked over the glass floor to where the large red gem pulsed weakly. Looking over his shoulder he watched as the swords hovered in deathly silence. The gem's glow stuttered violently, sparking a jolt of fear within him, and he heard the distant explosion as the room was bathed in the red light of the Red King's attack. He had to do it now, now in these last moments in which he could salvage a relationship he couldn't save before. He wouldn't let Munakata Reisi go through the agony of killing someone who loved him, although he knew that Mikoto Suoh would have wanted no other way to go.

He had been in a position so similar to them so many year ago, after all.

He closed his eyes and focused his hatred on the means of removal, the instrument that would tear Mikoto Suoh and Munakata Reisi apart. It was easy to access, to reroute his hatred for Komoro Honshu towards the Red Aura of the Dresden Slate, the hatred for what took who he loved away from him. He wouldn't let it happen again, not to these people who had done nothing wrong. Mikoto Suoh needed to exist for Munakata Reisi and for Misaki Yata, if he disappeared then the person who gave Misaki the home he had always wanted would disappear with him. Misaki would be lost, Reisi in despair, and all those broken people of Homra would have nowhere to go.

Light burst in front of his eyelids and he kept them shut instictively. He heard the sound of glass shattering all around, sure that he was being impaled with the shards but unable to feel them to tell.

It wasn't as if he expected to survive the night even if he hadn't decided to do all this.

He screamed on reflex, terrified as he _felt _something _inside him _moving like a writhing snake in his gut. He felt searing pain, that pain he had felt so long ago coming back fuck force and robbing him of the ability to make any sound at all. Light blinded him, red light that invaded every pore like a virus, and he rotted from the inside, convulsing in unbearable agony as he started to break down. He hadn't bothered to check the clock, not wanting to know when his death was coming because that would make him just dread it all the more. How funny that it should strike midnight the very moment he decided to save someone for the first time.

The light faded but it had robbed him of his sight, black spots dancing in front of him in an endless white void. He managed a smirk and felt warmth bubbling up the back of his throat, and his knees gave out causing him to fall over the exposed Dresden Slate. He could barely breath, the pain so intense, but he managed to speak what would most likely be his last coherent thought through the maddening agony.

"It's not like..." he whispered through cracked lips and a scorched windpipe, uncaring that he was draped over broken shards of glass and jagged rock or the pain that it brought him.

"It's not like anyone would mourn for my death anyway..."


	11. Chapter 10

Saruhiko woke up in a bed that was not his own. His first thought was that the ceiling light was too bright, the second that he was not in his own bed. He panicked, understanding the situation he was in immediately, knowing that he was either back with Komoro or Nagare, neither would bode well for him but he would more appriciative if he had been taken in by the Green King rather than the man that had ruined his life.

Not that anyone held entire claim on that, other than himself.

"You're awake! That's good! How are your mental functions?" Saruhiko bristled at the person he would recognize deaf and blind, the sent of antiseptic and metal permeating his nostrils like acrid smog. Komoro Honshu sat cross legged in a green lounge chair at the foot of the king sized bed. They were in a room that was utterly void of color, his sheets and pillows white as death, the light fixture on the ceiling blending into the paint in a blinding display. Only Komoro's lime green chair and dark hair standing out in the room against the void.

"You're our perfect little plaything, and you'll die our precious little princess."

* * *

Life in the facility was painful in the sense that his emotions and mental stability were strained beyond belief. The very first thing Komoro did to 'welcome him home' was to probe his memories by some strange means. Watching his memories like a spool of film, it was all Saruhiko could do to keep from screaming when the man delved into the more personal, violated, memories. He teased him about Misaki being Hinata's counterpart, his replacement, and even though the man was right it made his blood boil in cold fury.

It was nothing compared to the emptiness when a grown Hinata look alike strolled into the room with a stern expression on his lovely still-porcelain features.

"It's really him, Fushimi-kun. We retrieved him and fixed his brain, of course we also wiped his memory but that was something mandatory. He's your backup if you fail this upcoming year, and I doubt you would want to see your _precious_ friend stained in the blood of others would you?"

Saruhiko spent the next year in recap training, in avoiding the Hinata who no longer possessed the optimism and energy but now just stared blankly ahead with a no-nonsense attitude.

When he was released he left on foot, but he stole one of their cars out of spite and perhaps a bit of nostalgia.

He was not surprised when they just let him go.

* * *

Saruhiko didn't know if he was surprised that his father was still alive, torn between his expectations that the man would never make it to thirty and his apathy. Perched on his old bedroom window, the man still stuck in the same rundown house that was now even more of a disaster, he watched his father drink booze in the filthy easy chair in the living room that he could see through his open bedroom window. The man had converted his room into a trash compound, paper and plastic bags in various stages of decay, the smell so foul that Saruhiko was sure his nose was dripping.

He didn't know why he was here.

Did he want to kill his father?

Did he want closure?

He didn't know, couldn't say he felt anything other than a hollowness as he stared at the man who was the cause of his whole life.

He was the reason Hinata was dead.

At least the real Hinata.

Saruhiko lept from the sill and swung from the light fixture and into the living room, all in a single silent motion. He stood behind his father's chair, staring down at the man who he had once called father. This was the man that he had slaved day and night over stolen wallets and accounts that never quite met up, all for the love and attention he knew he would never get from the man who was currently passed out in his chair, the bottle still cradled to his chest. Had Fushimi Niki ever held him so tenderly as a baby?

He doubted it.

Time had been kind to his father, not looking a day older than he had the last time Saruhiko had seen him, his back turned on him as he walked out of his life. How easy it would be to destroy this man, kill the 'father' that had used him for money. However as he stared down at his father's passed out face, drool and liquor dripping from the corner of his lip and down his chin and onto his shirt...

He felt nothing for this pathetic drunk, a man unable to fight his urges and unable to manage his life. He didn't blame this man for abandoning him, after all he would abandon himself too.

Before he left, drifting like a shadow from the house he used to call home, he draped a filthy blanket over his father, the man dressed in a stained tank top and a pair of sweaty boxers.

He left that place and did not look back.

* * *

Shizume was easy to get to from Tokyo if you knew which back alley train stations would connect you directly for a pretty penny. He allowed himself a secret smile as he payed the ticket seller his own money, stepping on the train as broke as he had been the whole time. He did not sleep on the way over, passing the time by watching the flashing scenery, the bullet train not letting him see much but it was enough to hold his interest. As the world blurred passed him he thought of the monster who wore Hinata's face. It was Hinata, but it wasn't, merely a reanimated corpse that lacked all the love and empathy that the feminine boy had once possessed. If he did not complete his mission they would send in Hinata, if he did not complete his mission they would not only send the pink eyed boy after the Kings, but after the Clans as well.

So he had no choice but to complete his prerogative.

But he had always been a rebel.

The ride was eleven hours, Saruhiko snacking on the rice cakes he had stolen on the way over, and once the train arrived in Shizume it was noon. He knew where he was going, the destination planted firmly in his mind the moment he had left his father's abode.

It was high time he payed Nagare Hisui a visit.

The underground doctor remained as such, although he fully exercised his priveleges as a King. He composed his Clan of rag time fools, thugs he could manipulate into thinking he actually gave a shit about them. He established the tall tower that became his headquarters, his Clan he affectionately called Jungle. It was almost funny how easily he was able to scale the building and slip into the top floor without being seen, reminiscent of when he had scaled the Gold King's Tower to save a pair of doomed not-yet lovers. Inside he found a vast room very similar to where the Dresden Slate had once been kept, and Nagare stared at him owlishly as if he'd seen a ghost.

And then he grinned and let out a laugh.

"Fushimi-kun! Ah-I thought you disappeared off the Earth for a while there, what brings you back here of all places?!" Saruhiko didn't miss the manic look in his eyes, or the tent in his pants. He strolled over to the man with a blank face as he spoke, "Oh no reason, just thought I'd stop by and visit an old friend." He felt nothing of the sort for this man, only hatred and disgust directed towards him, but not yet, he still had some time before he began his plan. There were security cameras all around them, and this would all be perfect.

Yes, let them know the danger they are in.

"I was wondering if you let any other kids but me suck you off?" The words were like acid in his mouth, but he spoke with a flat face even though his brain was trying to strangle his vocal cords. He just wanted to know, needed to know, because just because the man was a pedophile towards him didn't mean-

"Of course, most of my Clan has the same relationship with me that you do."

Nevermind.

The anger he felt towards this loathsome creature was potent, and he grit his teeth so hard he was sure he cracked one of his molars. He felt nothing but hate for this man, and in an instant he was no longer a man but a mess of guts and bone fragments that splattered about the room like the world's messiest paint explosion. He stared up at one of the video cameras and felt numb like he had for the past few months, and he left the way he came, disregarding his viscera stained appearance.

Back down on the streets he ducked into the sewers and washed himself off with whatever water he could find that didn't smell of urine and feces. Back in society he stole clothes easily and changed in the nearest bathroom stall, dressing in all black clothing that was as slimming as he could find-long sleeved high neck shirt, skinny jeans, and a pair of black combat boots he slid on easily. To finish it all up he bought a black leather duster to hide all his affects, and partly because he had always wanted to own a trench coat.

He would need it to get around town completely unseen, purchasing a katana that would have costed him a fortune if he hadn't spent other people's hard earned money. The blade reminded him of the one that the Black Dog had wielded, a fine blade that clearly had history to it. In addition he went out and purchased a set of two black handguns, and a black belt holster for them.

He stocked up on throwing knives which he attached to the contraptions hiding beneath his sleeves, and at the last minute bought a hunting knife, just in case. He really didn't want to use any of these weapons, especially on the person he was going to target.

But such was life.

Everything was going smoothly, stopping at a nice chinese restaurant and gorging himself on fried rice that he didn't have taste buds to enjoy, and making a quick trip to Homra to take a look at Misaki one last time, and then everything suddenly wasn't fine. It had been maybe two hours since he had killed the Green King when he felt it, a probing into his mind that he would recognize anywhere. At first he ducked into an alleyway and tried not to panic, thinking that Komoro was accessing his memories again to make sure he wasn't plotting anything, but then he closed his eyes and really _focused._ It was all wrong-at least in belonging to Komoro's influence, and he soon felt the stirring in his Auras he always forgot about. Pulsing hot and cold in tandem, the flames and lightning ice bounced around his soul like a pet welcoming his master from a long trip.

He opened his eyes slowly and let a sad smile slip across his lips.

"You know where to find me then? Come find me here when you're done."

* * *

Neko was getting tired of watching the two men stare blankly into space, it had been nearly ten minutes-memories whirring quick when visited, and she was in great need of rice crackers. She left her perch on the couch and fluttered passed the dazed Kings, opening the fridge and finding it empty. Apparently the Blue Clan had bothered to clean out the boy's fridge before they expired when he had gone missing, but Neko was too hungry to care about sentimentality. She shut the door with a groan and a slam, turning around to find the Kings gone and the door ripped off it's hinges.

"...oh whatever~Shiro here I come!~"

* * *

Saruhiko sat on the trashcan in the alleyway in a state of utter bordem, it was one thing to know someone was watching your thoughts, it was completely another thing to have to wait until two lovestruck Kings traipsed their way to his location. To be fair, he had no idea if they were a couple, but he would be damned if they didn't end up together eventually. He recalled the sexual tension during their fights (at least from Mikoto which Reisi seemed utterly oblivious to) and let out a grievous sigh.

He was getting impatient, ready to pace back and forth, and had just slid off his trashcan perch with a scrape of his weapons when he found Suoh Mikoto and Munakata Reisi standing in front of him with wide fretful eyes. Saruhiko jerked back on instinct, forgetting to bother to emotionally prepare for someone suddenly knowing all his secrets.

Suddenly he found himself in a crushing bear hug by both Kings, swirling scents of mint tea and strawberries wrapping around him like a blanket. He let himself sag into their arms in a boneless grip, letting his head rest of whichever shoulder he was closest to and let his eyes fall close. Of all the reactions he had formulated in his head of if he ever told anyone his past, this was farthest from his expectations. Jeers, taunts and persecution, snarls of disgust and harsh words he would agree with, but instead he was given this hug full of compassion and comfort.

He let himself cry without shame for the first time in his life.

Reisi felt like crying himself, holding this poor soul who had gone through so much for the sake of others. They had gotten it all wrong, this boy was golden. The boy shivered in the joint hug, resting his head in the crook of Reisi's neck and letting him feel the cold press of his tear stained face against his skin. It was the lest Reisi could offer, a nice hug and a shoulder to cry on, and he knew that the boy deserved so much more. How odd that it would all turn out this way, that these secrets would be so forlorn and heartbreaking.

He could only imagine how the boy managed to have the strength to survive day after day of sleepless technicolor nights and stomach heaving mornings. How he could live in a world of sensation without the ability to take it in, to let himself be abused and desecrated to save the people he held dear.

Mikoto felt like punching himself in the face. How could he have treated the boy so callously while he had such a heart of gold? He had been so wrong, so blind, this boy had given so much for those he cared about. His days had been numbered, just like his own had been, and yet he was willing to give his life to save Mikoto's and Reisi's. Even if Reisi never returned his feelings, Mikoto would be happy as long as Reisi was happy.

After all, love was selfless.

A year ago to the day, Mikoto was ready to die at the hands of the person he loved most, knowing it would cause the other distress but being selfish in his last wishes. He had known Reisi since high school, known that the other could make the tough decisions even though they would eat him up afterwards for years. He knew it would make Reisi suffer, but he could trust no one else with the task of ending his life. It was selfish, he knew that, but he also would want to die nowhere else but in Reisi's arms.

Saruhiko had known that, gone through the same experience himself, and so had saved them the grief and given them the future he was denied. He should have never said such horrible things about him, never thought of him as a crazy creep, he should have known the truth.

The truth that this cold boy was the warmest person on Earth.

"What's your plan?" Reisi said after a while, not loosening his grip around the boy's waist and Saruhiko making no move to leave. Saruhiko rolled his head off Reisi's shoulder though, staring absently at a fixed point on the brick wall behind them, "I'm going to fail my prerogative, and when Hinata comes in I'm going to kill him and then myself."


	12. Chapter 11

Saruhiko didn't do anything at all for three days straight. He completed basic life functions, ate when he remebered and drank little, took more than two showers a day because he liked to watch the steam rise, and at night he injected himself with the last three injections of Arsinoth he would ever take. On the fourth morning, when he lurtched to the bathroom and vomited his guts into the toilet fro the last time in his life, Saruhiko smiled as he brushed his teeth on autopilot, meeting his gaze in the mirror. He was jovial, walking out to the balcony of the hotel room he had purchased to watch the last sunrise he would ever see, nothing could bring his spirits down.

Of course, the two Kings were all over his case-bickering with him from anger stemming from their concern over his proclaimed decision to die. He didn't blame them, to a normal person the desire for death was unfathomable, the thought of murder-suicide of your love and then yourself a disgusting thought.

But for him, a monster, it was heaven.

With any luck he could get Hinata to fatally wound him, but he rethought that hope upon the realization that it wouldn't really be Hinata killing him but this robotic shell of the boy he still pinned for. His love for Hinata was not entirely rational, his relationship so short and so young it should have no existed at all, and yet he wanted nothing more than die by the other's hand, but that Hinata no longer existed.

He shoveled down a protein shake and a cup of ramen noodles, dressed quickly in the weapons and clothes he had procured and stepped out of the room he had called home for three days, never to return. He had requested that Suoh and Munakata tell no one they had met him, and it was obvious they wouldn't. No King had told their subordinates about him killing the Green King except the Silver King, the thought that a non-King had managed to kill one of them too fragile of information to be leaked to anyone, trusted or not. Of course that meant that Misaki would not know anything about it, and for that Saruhiko thanked a nameless god.

For which King Hinata would target, Saruhiko had a hunch. Hinata would be coming to finish off what Saruhiko had started as a one-off. The Kings were in separate locations except for the Red and Blue King which Hinata would know he was guarding, so taking two out in one go wouldn't be his objective. He would go for the King that Saruhiko was less likely to be around, the one he wouldn't be around to protect. Saruhiko told Suoh and Munakata to go to opposite ends of Shizume but in hiding, and began his own journey to where he knew the Purple King would be. He knew next to nothing about the man on the personal level, only knew his name and face from his youth training, but he knew that would be who Hinata would strike.

Saruhiko arrived at the man too late, the culprit standing in the splattered mess that had once been a human being, and found himself unable to pull the trigger as he aimed a gun at the amnesiac. Hinata turned in the gore, drenched in blood from head to toe, light pink eyes so familiar and yet so foul.

"You failed your prerogative due to your debilitating attachments. I should have killed those two Kings you are so fond of, but then again the purpose of this man's death-," he gestured around himself vaguely as if to reveal the obvious, "-was to draw us together so I could destroy you. You are detrimental to the company and to our maker. I have to eliminate you." Saruhiko nodded, "I don't give a damn about our 'company' or our 'maker', I only care that you stop this murder, but the only way to do that is to kill you in turn. So..." Saruhiko holstered the gun and pulled out the specialized katana with a glean of gilded steel.

"So this ending is already scripted."

* * *

Mikoto was no coward, but he was also no fool. Splitting up was the best option, however, as he left Homra with a solid excuse that had nothing to do with the truth, he worried for Reisi. He knew the other could take good care of himself, but against someone who clould explode you from a distance simply by intense emotions? It would be cruel of him not to worry. He did not expect to find the male of his affections waiting for him on the designated side of town, and at first he wondered if he had gotten the direction's backwards and followed Reisi's instructions instead.

"We can't just let him waste his life like it means nothing at all." Reisi frowned, crossing his arms, and Mikoto noted the saber at his hip. Mikoto nodded, "I agree but we've already tried to convince him and it hasn't worked, but honestly we have no right to deny him this if it's what he really wants. He's suffered so much by doing things that others have wanted, I think we should let him finally do what he wants, even if it's something we don't agree with." Reisi seemed shocked at Mikoto's speech, but hesitant to rebuke him as he agreed himself.

"I know but we should at least try one more time, if only to check on him."

"What if we find out he failed and then Hinata's open to kill us. He told us to stay away and doing this will just be like falling into Komoro's hands."

"I know but..."

* * *

Saruhiko and Hinata fought and with every parried blow Saruhiko felt like he was closer and closer to crying. Hinata's eyes were maliciously blank, and Saruhiko countered as best he could but he couldn't guarantee that his eyes were dry. As people who bore the same power they canceled each other out, as he was sure that he would be nothing but paste if Hinata could do it. He knew he wouldn't be able to kill Hinata like that, only if because he could never hate the pink lemonade eyed boy.

But he would kill Hinata in the end.

And then kill himself.

...

As his katana met the blade of Hinata's bayonet-style rifle, Saruhiko ignored the threat of wavering of consciousness throbbing in his skull as the blast wound from said rifle gushed blood from his thigh, his femoral artery spilling his wasted life all over the already blood-stained floor. He could tell the time was coming, feel death creeping in, and he held the switch to trigger his own demise, to hemorrhage in agony on this bloodied floor all because he focused his hate inwards, triggering his Arsinoth override.

He would pay for his sins willingly in red hot agony.

But not yet, Hinata had to come first.

Hinata always came first.

He knew he was sobbing as he fought, and didn't care in the slightest, only focusing on the wounds he had already inflicted on this boy he was still so very in love with. He lunged forward, catching Hinata off guard, and stabbed his katana threw the boy's stomach, hearing the crunch of spine and the squelching of ruptured intestines. Hinata crumpeled like a rag doll as he lost all control of his lower limbs. Saruhiko followed him, catching him as he fell out of instinctual sentiment, crying for this boy who wasn't his Hinata at all. He wouldn't survive the poison he had coated the katana in, his veins already popping out on exposed skin like grotesque spider webs from the cuts he had already inflicted. It would give him a painless and gentle death, but to Saruhiko it was agony incarnate.

Saruhiko triggered his own death without hesitation, staring into Hinata's confused face even as his vision went white with agony. He gripped his companion tightly as he screamed so hard he lost his voice, blood exploding from his mouth like a geizer. He trembled and waited for oblivion, all the while unable to think through the unimaginable pain. His internal organs melted like ice under the sun, bleeding from his nose, his ears, his eyes, ever pore on his skin oozing his life out one drop at a time. It took only seconds but for Saruhiko it was hours before the agony faded and he just felt cold, so numb, an inability to feel not because he couldn't but because there was nothing left to feel at all. He let himself sink into cold oblivion with what he hoped was a smile on his face, the sounds of dripping blood and someone sobbing getting farther and farther into the distance until there was just...

Peace.

* * *

Mikoto and Reisi stumbled into a room coated in gore and reeking of death, and were at a loss for how to react. Hinata lay curled around an almost unrecognizable corpse that was stained in crimson and responsible for creating the thick pool of lumpy blood that the pink-eyed boy was lying in. Hinata hugged Saruhiko's dead body like a lifeline, burying his face in the mess of red stained whimpering almost incomprehensibly.

Almost.

"I remember, I remember so please come back to me, come back to me, come back to..."

Hinata's body went lax, but his grip on Saruhiko's frigid hand did not.


	13. Epilogue

Saruhiko and Hinata were buried side by side in the mountains that loomed over Shizume, a nice quiet place away from civilization where the boys could watch the sunset over the city. The key was that Misaki would never find the graves, though Mikoto told him that Saruhiko had left because he had a genetic disease and had passed away. Misaki took it poorly, crying on the spot like a child, and Mikoto added that Saruhiko had called a few days before he passed to Reisi to tell Misaki that he was still his best friend and that he wanted him to be happy. That at least, Mikoto could say, and knew that Saruhiko would approve.

So time went on, Misaki recovering and the other Kings eventually understanding that the threat to them was gone. Munakata and Mikoto personally found Komoro and took down his establishment from afar, leaving not even ash. So they would be fine, everything would be fine, and Saruhiko and Hinata could finally be at peace with each other.

There was only one thing left to do, Mikoto mused, strolling into the Blue King's office like he belonged there. Reisi didn't even look up from his paperwork, instead frowning at whatever he was writing, "So I see my lieutenant let you in again, it seems that bartender of yours has had quite the influence on her, as of late." Mikoto hummed in response, smiling softly as he admired the neat tight strokes of the pen as the King tried to remain calm and not yell at him. "So what is your business here?" Reisi said with a tone of frustration, finally putting down his pen and staring at Mikoto with his fingers interlaced in front of his chest.

Mikoto nodded, "Will you let me take you out to dinner tonight?"

Reisi demeanor fell, a look of shock on his face for a fraction of a moment as he barely opened and closed his mouth repeatedly like a fish, before smiling softy.

"I can't see the harm in it."

Regardless of whether or not things worked out between them, they owed Saruhiko and Hinata to at least give it a try. To take advantage of an opportunity that the tragic duo were unable to. Saruhiko had always harped about going to Hell, that he and the three other children were all monsters and deserved nothing more than Hell after death, but Mikoto and Reisi were certain that no matter where the boys went, if anywhere, they were there together.

And in the end, wasn't that what Saruhiko had always ever wanted?

_END_


End file.
